


Alone With Me

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Acting like idiots, Because I think it's cute, Because it seems like a random thing he would do, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Depression, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mention Of Dub-Con, Mention of suicide attempts, Mutual Pining, Protective Tony Stark, Sexual Content, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve deserves the world, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark's crush on Sam, Tony and Steve doing what they do, Tony deserves the universe, Tony goes bowling, We all need a partner like Tony Stark, mention of violence, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 76,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: Continuing the events of "Better".  Steve has been gone three months.  Tony is coping...until he's not.  This is almost the end of the series "STAY".  There's so much that happens, I can't begin to summarize it.  I still suck at summaries.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & FRIDAY, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Natasha Romanov & Bruce Banner, Tony Stark & Pepper Potts, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/Original Female Character(s)
Series: STAY [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 108
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of the end...

He was okay.

Right up until the precise moment he wasn’t, he was okay.

He’d gone through the motions. He’d stayed at the cabin, watched the boats out on the lake, slept in the bed they’d shared, worked on his cars, washed the dishes, went to City Council meetings, spoke at Lions Club meetings. He even joined a bowling league. And why not? His average was 220, and he bought all the beer. His team was beyond thrilled to have him.

But after three months, the cars were done. The speed boats stopped appearing on the lake. The City Council and The Lions only met once per month. The bed felt too big with just him in it, and there were never very many dishes to wash. He still enjoyed the bowling, but sometimes the guys brought their wives or their girlfriends to watch. It was hard being the only guy without somebody on the team. Hard being the only guy without somebody, period.

Tony didn’t realize all these things were building up to something. He didn’t realize that ordering orange chicken and lo mein for one twice a week, or sitting alone on the deck at night with a glass of Scotch, or playing a game of chess with FRIDAY on Wednesday mornings had been loading straws onto the camel’s back. 

He knew what the final one was, though. The one that broke it. Oh yes, he knew that one.

He had actively avoided going through Steve’s things. Because #1: They were Steve’s, and everyone deserves privacy. #2: Steve was coming back and Tony wanted everything to be the way he’d left it. And then there was #3. #3 was left unsaid, unthought of, even to himself. #3 was a secret reason. 

#3: It just hurt too goddamn much.

But he was on the phone with Billy from town who was going over the roster for the adult basketball team they had been thinking about. Billy was of the mind high school students would be perfectly fine to have on the team as long as they were at least seventeen. Jack, Billy’s brother-in-law, and a member of the _other_ team in town thought that was bullshit. Tony had already spoken to Jack about this issue. He didn’t tell Billy about that, though.

_I’m like King Solomon up in here,_ Tony thought, as he searched around for a pencil to jot down Billy’s kids’ names so he could show them to Jack. 

“Yeah, I get it, Bill,” he said. “Youth and agility trumps experience. I understand that.”

He spied Steve’s sketchbook under the couch and hooked it out with his foot. It was dusty, but there was a pencil sticking out of it around the midpoint.

Tony tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah...Yeah, Billy. No, I really do get it.”

He flipped the pad open with no other thought than the pencil lurking inside...and stopped.

His shoulders fell as he looked down at the pad. His phone tumbled into his lap and lay there, forgotten. The pencil, too, was forgotten. It hit the ground and rolled back under the couch.

It was the picture Steve had been sketching, of course. He must have worked on it while Tony got ready and drove into town for dinner that night, because he was looking at a finished piece now. The Bentley, though on the far right in the picture, was obviously the focal-point. Steve had recreated it in loving detail. The beach, the dock, the trees, were mere suggestion and glamor, hazy like in a dream, but the car was bold, heavy, leaping off the page, looking stylized but almost real enough to climb into. Tony could almost feel the rumble of the engine, smell that strawberry air freshner he’d never gotten around to replacing.

On his lap, Billy squawked his name. Tony pressed the cut-off button, silencing him, never taking his eyes off the sketch.

Tony could picture Steve sitting here, brow furrowed while he penciled in the details of the car. Those three vertical lines appearing, signalling his concentration while he perfected the shape and grace of the car’s lines. Tony knew why, too. Why he’d wanted it to be perfect. Because Tony wanted it. He wanted it, and Steve would never deliver anything but his absolute best to Tony.

And it was.

Steve must have been satisfied with it too, because he’d signed it. He’d written a note at the bottom, and it was that note that was the last straw.

_For Tony_ , he’d written. _Fuck you, Stark. XX Steve_

He’d have been smiling while he wrote that inscription, Tony was sure of it. His grin mischievous, his eyes sparkling, knowing that anyone else who saw it would be either confused or mildly shocked. But not Tony. Tony would know it for what it was, that little inside joke. It was their own language. “I love you” in code.

And that was it.

He wasn’t okay anymore.

He didn’t tear the picture up. He didn’t trash the house or rend his garments. He just stood up, put on his jacket, found his keys, wallet, and sunglasses, and left the house.

  
He was closer to New York, so he went back to the Tower. If he’d been nearer to California, he would have went to Malibu. He’d re-built the house there a while back but hadn’t actually lived there yet. Once Steve had come into the picture, there hadn’t seemed any point. Steve wasn’t a California guy.

He called Jeff from his bowling team and asked him to keep an eye on the house. “I got called away suddenly. I’m sorry to leave you guys in the lurch, but it’s really unavoidable.”

“Sure, I’ll watch the house, Tony, but when are you coming home?”

Tony fidgeted with his spoon. He was in the kitchen of the Tower. Barefoot, sitting on the counter with a bowl of cereal. He’d been here two days. Two days alone in this place that used to house everybody. It was a little lonely, if he told himself the truth, but it was still better than the cabin. Here, he missed everyone. There, he only missed Steve.

“I don’t really know,” he said into the phone. “Could be a week, could be a month. I wish I could be more sure, but I just don’t know.”

There was a pause on the line. It was a heavy one, then Jeff’s voice, concerned and calm. “Is this about Steve?”

Tony closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cabinets. Jeff had never met Steve, but he knew who he was. Everyone in their little community knew who he was. Not only had he once been Captain America, but he was Tony Stark’s lover. That was news. Especially in a town that small. 

The shocked looks they had received when they first came to town had tickled Tony pink, but after the initial surprise wore off, nobody seemed to care much, and that tickled _Steve_. They became just one more couple going to the movies or sitting in the diner or bickering over which peanut butter to buy in the grocery store. Just part of the small town scenery.

But everybody _did_ know who they were. Even if they didn’t _know_ them. 

The guys on Tony’s team had only asked him about Steve once. Right after their first game, everybody on their second beer, one of the guys said they’d heard the ambulance had been at the cabin a couple weeks ago.

Tony shrugged, said Steve had taken ill, and drank his beer.

The guy, Ray, had squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “That’s rough, man. Hope he gets better quick.” 

Then they started talking about the game against the Buxton Lane-Jumpers, and Tony bought them all another round.

He sighed now, into the phone. “Yeah,” he answered. “In a roundabout way, I guess it is about Steve.”

“What can we do to help?”

Tony swallowed past the lump that had suddenly found its way into his throat. God, was it old age or heartbreak that was making him lose his edge? Whichever it was, could go fuck itself.

“Nothing, Jeff, but thanks. I’m going to miss you guys.”

“Don’t miss us. Just come on home soon as you can.”

“I will. As soon as I can.”

“We’ll keep your spot on the team.”

 _Fucking heartbreak_ …”Make it an honorary one for now. But when I come back, be ready to dump the new guy.”

“Done.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later, Tony.”

He hung up the phone, took two bites of his cereal, then picked up the phone again. He didn’t have to search his contacts--this number was on speed-dial. Number 3, to be exact.

“Yes?”

“How is he?”

“I can’t discuss his treatment with you.”

“You don’t need to discuss his treatment with me, Stephen, just his welfare.”

Strange sighed. Tony could hear the annoyance loud and clear as a bell. “He’s getting better. Getting stronger.”

“What about the drugs?”

“He insists he only took the medication his Dr. Baxter prescribed. And you already know what Baxter said.”

“I don’t believe that, Strange. Steve didn’t have some dealer on the lake, and I don’t give a _fuck_ what that guy says.”

“I know you don’t believe it.”

“Do you?”

Strange paused. Sighed. “I don’t want to believe it. But Baxter has been thoroughly checked out. And what would be his motivation for lying?"

"Does he need motivation to be a lying fuck, Stephen? Maybe he's just a bad guy."

"Or maybe the simplest explanation is the correct one. He had pages of notes on Steve and his PTSD-related drug use. He gave those to the local police. They arrested a drug-dealer in your town who says he might have dealt to 'a guy like that' when they questioned him."

" _That_ guy was so high himself he probably thought he was dealing to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and having tea with the queen every other day."

"I know."

“Was his Zoloft tainted?”

“They looked into that. It was clean.”

“So, what the fuck?”

“I don’t know, Tony.”

Tony was quiet, his mind whirling. A thousand thoughts, a thousand questions jostling for room in his mouth. Finally, one broke through. 

“Does he miss me?” 

He hated the sad, pathetic way it sounded, but he did want to know. In fact, right now, it was the only thing he really wanted to know.

Strange sighed again. “I’ll talk to you about this once. Just this once, then I can’t talk about it again, alright?”

“ _‘Just this once, Kay’_ , huh? You’ll let me ask about your business?”

“Please spare me your personality, Stark. I don’t have the patience.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Tell me how he is. Really.”

Tony pictured him sitting at his desk, his tie loosened a little, wearing a white lab coat. He was probably at home in the Sanctum in jeans and a hoodie, but the white coat image made it easier for Tony, so that’s what he went with.

“He _is_ getting better,” Strange said, “but he was very bad when he woke up so anything is an improvement.”

“What do you mean, ‘very bad’?”

“Suicidal,” he answered bluntly. “We took away anything and everything that could be used as a weapon. That’s SOP with all new patients. We kept him under 24-hour surveillance. I special ordered vibranium restraints from Wakanda after he tore through three sets of the standard ones and two pairs of high-grade steel handcuffs.”

Tony closed his eyes.

“I also had to keep him sedated for part of the time. Especially at night. His nightmares were extraordinarily pronounced.”

“I told you--”

“I know. And you were right.”

“What else?”

“We had to tube-feed him for three weeks because he refused to eat on his own.” Pause. “He lost weight. He’s gained a little back, but he’s still thin.”

Tony thought of him in the bathroom before his first appointment, beautiful in his jeans and simple button-down, asking Tony if he looked healthy. “Mental-healthy”.

“All kinds of mental healthy,” Tony had responded. Had this been brewing even then? Tony could not bear to think of Steve lying awake while he himself slept the blameless sleep of the oblivious, thinking about how he would end his own life.

_I’m so sorry, baby,_ he thought. _I’m so sorry I didn’t see._

“Does he remember? What happened?”

“That’s difficult to say,” Strange said carefully. “He _knows_ what happened, but whether or not he actually remembers, I don’t know.”

“Does he talk about it?”

“Not to me. But I’m not his psychiatrist. They’re actually considering some kind of hypno-therapy. I’m not sure I approve, but…” he trailed off into a disgruntled silence.

“Is that really legit?”

“I believe I just answered that question.”

Tony sat, weighing other questions in his mind. Strange wouldn’t answer all of them, and if he lost his patience with Tony, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He was working on borrowed time here with the good doctor, and he knew it.

“I’ve written him a few times,” Tony said, at last.

“Yes.”

“Do you think that’s okay?”

“I’ve seen him reading them,” he said. “Sometimes he’s smiling, sometimes he’s not. I don’t believe you would write anything accusatory or hurtful on purpose--”

“Of fucking _course,_ I wouldn’t!”

“--which makes me think he’s using your letters as a way to process things in his own mind.”

“So…”

“Don’t stop writing. In my opinion, at least, it’s a good thing.”

Tony nodded. He knew Strange couldn’t see him. He didn’t give a shit. “He doesn’t write back.”

“Nor would I expect him to. He’s in recovery, Tony.”

“I know.”

“Let it be enough for you to know that he’s reading your letters to him. Right now, that’s more important.”

“I know that, too.”

“Is there anything else, Tony?”

There were a million other things, but Tony knew he had gotten pretty much all he was going to get from him. “I guess not.”

“Well, then let’s leave this on a bit of happy news, shall we?”

“What’s that?”

“His back and pelvis are healing nicely. In fact, I think I’m going to try him on a walker next week.”

Tony barked out a shocked, happy laugh. “Are you serious? Oh my god, Stephen, that’s fantastic. You really know how to bury the lead, don’t you?”

“You didn’t ask.”

Tony laughed again. Tears were in his eyes, but these were good ones. These ones he could handle. “Can I be there, do you think? When he tries to walk the first time?” He put his head in his hand, grinning and weeping in the Tower kitchen. “I’d love to see that. I’d love to see _him._ ”

“I can’t let you do that, Tony. You know that.”

“Please? I’ll be super-quiet. I’ll be more than super-quiet, I’ll be super-silent.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“I’ll stay behind a two-way mirror. He won’t even have to know I’m there.”

“No.” 

“Stephen--”

“No, Tony.”

“Fine.” His spirits were dampened, but not shattered. He hadn’t really expected Strange to let him come. “Will you at least tell me when you do it? And tell me how he does?”

Strange let out a breath. It didn’t seem as angry as Tony would have thought. Maybe the idea of Steve up on his feet was just too good for all of them. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll let you go, Doc. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony started to hang up when he heard Strange’s voice say his name again. “What’s that, Doc?”

“I said he does. Miss you. I think it’s fairly obvious.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

Tony hung up the phone, wiping his eyes. That was good news. Fucking great news, and his first thought was that he needed to share it with Steve. Ridiculous, of course. Then he thought of Pepper. Was _that_ ridiculous? Perhaps the news about Steve was too much, but what about just calling her? Just talking to her? He missed her, missed her poised, polished, steady presence. Would it be cruel to call her after leaving her to be with Steve? He didn’t want to be cruel, but…

“Fuck it,” he said, and pressed #5. 

She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Cautious. Curious.

“Hello, Miss Potts.”

Silence from her end, and Tony waited to see if she would speak or hang up on him. Thirty seconds. Thirty long-ass seconds…

“Are you dying?”

He smiled. “Well, I guess we’re all dying. Relatively speaking.”

“Yes, but is your death imminent?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you hurt?”

He paused to think about the question. It was loaded to the hilt.

“Oh my god, Tony, _are_ you hurt?”

Tony laughed at the tinge of panic in her tone. He’d missed it. He’d missed her. So much. “No, Pep, I’m okay.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He could see the twist of her lips in his mind’s eye, see her trying to decide whether to smile or scream. The irony was, Steve did the exact same thing.

“I don’t hate you,” she said.

“And I don’t want you to hate him.”

“That’s a little harder.”

Tony sighed, resting his head in his hand. He knew how much he was asking of her. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t stop being with Steve. Not even for her. Pepper was his past. Steve was his future. He still believed that. Even if Steve wouldn’t answer his letters, wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t speak to him, he still believed it. Would always believe it until he drew his last breath.

“Nothing happened while we were together, Pepper,” he said. “Please, honey, you’ve got to believe me.”

“He loved you. He’s always loved you.”

“And I loved you. Me and Steve... Not until last April, Pepper. Please believe me.”

That quiet again, that pregnant, waiting quiet. “What do you want from me, Tony?”   
  
“I want to be your friend again. We were friends before we were anything else. Can’t we go back to that?”

“You paid me before.”

“I’ll pay you again.”

A soft, lady-like snort. Why did she and Steve have to be so much alike? And why was he just noticing this now?

“Seriously, Pep, like a hundred bucks a day? Just to put up with me? I’ll even give you weekends and Wednesdays off.”

She sighed again, and it was familiar and well-loved, her long-suffering sigh. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Which home?”

“New York.”

“Come to the office. You don’t have to pay me, but I’ll let you buy me lunch.”

“Just lunch, huh?”

“And five pairs of Jimmy Choos.”

“My credit card is your credit card, Miss Potts.”

She insisted she’d been kidding about the shoes, but he did pay for lunch. They went to the Four Seasons and scarfed down course after course of food that was far too rich for two o’clock in the afternoon, but Tony kept it coming. Things were always better with a belly full of Porterhouse and butter-poached tiger prawns. 

“Did you call me because he’s in the hospital?” Pepper asked as he walked her to her car. Happy was still her driver/bodyguard, but she’d given him the afternoon off. Word was, he had a lady-friend. Pepper encouraged him. Everyone deserved something good after what they’d been through.

“No,” Tony scoffed, then with hardly a breath, “Well, yes, but not in the way you think.”

“And how do I think?”

“That you’re my fall-back when things get rough.”

She tilted her head, her red hair glinting in the sun. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “but I’ve wanted to call you for months.”

“So, why today?”

Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked the tire of her BMW. “I got some news and I wanted to tell someone.”

“And you thought of me,” she said. “But I wasn’t your first choice, was I?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything. I’m just asking a question.”

“And I plead the Fifth.”

She shook her head, smiling a little. God, in the sun, she even _looked_ like Steve. “Fine. What was the news?”

_I shagged your doppelganger for a month before putting him in the loony-bin,_ he thought crazily. “On closer inspection,” he said instead, “it seemed inappropriate to share.”

“Was it about him?”

Tony tilted his head from side to side, considering. “I kind of think the Fifth covers that question too.”

“At least tell me if it was good or bad news.”

“Actually, it was a bit of both.”

She kissed his cheek. “You never change, do you? You’re still infuriating.”

“And you’re still amazing.”

She wiped lipstick off his cheek with her thumb. It was a friendly gesture. It made him want to cry again. _Fucking heartbreak._ “Save your flattery for someone else. I’m immune.”

_That makes two of you,_ he thought. “Not flattery. Just the god’s honest.”

Pepper gave his cheek one more swipe. “I am glad you called, Tony. Things were a little too quiet without you around.”

A warm glow lit in his chest and he welcomed it. After hearing what Steve had went through the last three months, he needed a little warmth.

“Speaking of,” he said, “you haven’t told me if _you’re_ seeing anyone. You know, anyone special.”

She took her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. “I plead the Fifth.”

Tony stepped closer and gave her a short tight hug. “Fair enough. But I insist you tell me when something gets serious. I am paying you, after all.”

She shook her head. “Good-bye, Tony.”

“Bye, Pep. Will I see you around?”

“Yes. Yes, call me if you want to talk.”

“I will. I love you.”

She looked at him seriously. “I’m putting a moratorium on that phrase. If you want to be my friend.”

He nodded. “Okay. You don’t disgust me”

She laughed, surprised, and slid into the car. “Good-bye, Tony.”

“Bye.”

He watched her drive away, then got into his own car. It was a Ferrari. He’d retired the Bentley for the moment. It didn’t feel right without Steve in the passenger seat. He keyed the engine into loud, growling life and pulled out of the lot. He drove home fast. Not because there was anyone there to meet him, just because he wanted to. There was something about the city that just made him want to go fast.  
\---

“It was freaky, Tony.”

He stared hard at Bruce, his eyes slitted, mouth turned down. “Explain ‘freaky’.”

They were sitting in Bruce’s apartment. It was old and worn, but comfortable, with shelves of books and soft places to sit. An old, battered turntable sat on a low side-board surrounded by records. Miles Davis was on it now. _Kind of Blue._ Not really Tony’s style, but it was turned low, and it fit this place, this atmosphere. Light filtered through the windows, setting dust-motes dancing. A cat snoozed on a radiator. It was so homey and cozy, Tony wondered if The Hulk ever had occasion to come out and play, at all.

Bruce leaned forward, hands between his knees. “It was like somebody flipped a switch in his head,” he said. “One minute he was lucid, talking normal, the next, he was out like a light. Gone. His eyes were still open, but Steve--our Steve, _your_ Steve--was gone.”

“Did they ask him questions? About the LSD and stuff?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Bruce said. “He wouldn’t say anything. At all, Tony. He just sat there like a wax figure until they finally woke him up.”

Natasha came in from the kitchen. She handed Tony a chipped mug of tea and put another on the coffee table in front of Bruce. She curled up next to him with her own mug. She sat close, but not touching him. Tony supposed if he had not been there, she would have curled up in his lap. He appreciated the restraint. It was hard being single. Not that he was single. Not in his mind, at least. He was just alone. 

“What does that mean, though?” she asked, sipping her tea.

Bruce picked up his own cup and stirred it. “I think it suggests this isn’t the first time he’s been put under hypnosis.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “but what does that _mean_?”

Strange wouldn’t allow Tony to come around to the facility and watch Steve’s progress, but he would not refuse Bruce. Tony had recruited him as his spy, and he went as often as he could, gathering intel and bringing it back to Tony--and Natasha. She wasn’t allowed at the facility, either.

“That somebody has been messing around in his head,” Bruce answered.

“Baxter,” Tony said, and Bruce shook his head.

“He said he never did any hypno-therapy.”

“Well, of course he’d say that, honey,” Nat said. “Especially if he fucked something up and needed to cover it up.”

“It’s not just doctors that get inside a person’s head,” Bruce said carefully. He glanced at Tony, then at Natasha. “Wanda never did anything, did she? While you guys were...gone?”

Natasha shot him a venomous look. Tony was very glad Bruce had asked that question and not him. Although, he wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now.

“She would never, Bruce,” Natasha said flatly. “Steve is like a father to her. She would never do that.”

Bruce adjusted his glasses. “But she did, Nat. She did it to all of us.”

Yes, she had. She had prophesied Steve’s death, had caused Bruce to break into a Hulk-sized rampage, had hurt them all. Tony had tried to forgive her over the years and had mostly succeeded, but part of him would always be wary of her. 

“What are you accusing her of?” Nat asked.

“I’m not accusing her of anything,” Bruce said in a neutral tone. “I’m just pointing out that she’s not completely innocent.”

“No one in this room is completely   
innocent. We’ve all fallen,” Natasha said. “She’s proven herself enough since then.”

Bruce put down his cup. “She’s had a lot of chances.”

Nat sat back, her eyes sharp as knives. “You’re saying you don’t trust her?”

Bruce gazed at her mildly, not giving an inch.

“Well, then maybe you don’t trust me, either.”

“No,” Tony said, sharply. “No, no, don’t do that, guys. Please.” He took one of Bruce’s hands and one of Natasha’s. “You can’t do that. You can’t fight. Not you two.” He took their hands and brought them together, then looked sternly at Bruce. “Say you’re sorry.”

Bruce glanced at her sideways. His fingers tightened on hers ever so slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at Natasha. “What do you say, Miss Romanov?”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Tony dropped their hands, and now Nat did crawl onto his lap. Bruce put his arms around her and she kissed him before settling against his chest. “I am sorry,” she said quietly.

“Me too. And, of _course_ , I trust you. More than anyone.”

Tony felt his heart swell in the cage of his chest. Seeing them together, happy and in love, could have made him a jealous wreck, but it didn’t. They deserved it. If any two people in the world did, it was these two. How lucky that they’d found each other. How lucky that time and circumstance had led them down their separate paths until they merged together into one. Bruce the monster and Natasha the assassin. Both so dangerous on their own, but together, they were all love and sweetness and light.

He and Steve had been like that. Tony swore to himself they would be again.

He let them have their moment, sipping his tea--lemon and honey, Tony liked honey--then said, “Don’t kill me, Nat, but Bruce does have a point.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. Her fingers toyed restlessly with the top button of Bruce’s shirt.

“I mean Wanda can get into a person’s head.”

“Guys, she would never do that. She loves Steve. You should have seen them together. She would _never_ hurt him.”

Tony held his hands up in surrender. “No, Nat, I don’t mean to hurt him. I mean, she could help him.”

She smiled, catching on. “Yes. She could, couldn’t she? She absolutely could.”

They both turned expectant eyes on Bruce. He looked skeptical, almost uncomfortable in spite of the soft woman in his lap.

“I don’t know, you two,” he said. “Having her poke around in his head while he’s already compromised? I don’t think it’s safe. And I’m pretty positive Stephen won’t.”

“With all due respect,” Nat said, “fuck him. If Wanda can help, then we can’t let Steve keep suffering. You said it yourself, honey. He needs something more than what the doctors are giving him.”

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know. How do you even broach that subject?”

“It doesn’t need to be broached. She just goes in and does it.” 

“No,” Bruce protested. “If we’re going to do this, it has to be through proper channels.”

“Proper channels equals red tape, Bruce. I’ll--”

“No,” Tony said. “I’ll do it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll talk to Strange. He’s a super-type. He’ll get it. I just need to convince him, then he can convince the rest of them.”

“Do you think you can do that?” Nat asked.

Tony grinned. “Bold of you to doubt a Stark.”

“I don’t doubt your Starkiness,” she said, “just your snarkiness.”

“Always with the wit,” he said, and it was as if Steve had spoken through him. Tony closed his eyes and swallowed. There seemed to be another lump in his throat. _Fucking heartbreak._

Tony took his phone out of his pocket and pressed 3. Strange didn’t pick up, so Tony waited for the voice-mail. “Hey, Doc, it’s Tony Stark. Can you meet me for lunch tomorrow? I’ve got something to discuss and we might as well eat while we talk, right? Don’t say no, ‘kay? This is important. The deli down from the Tower? Albert’s? One o’clock. Their corned beef will change your life. See you then.”

“What if he says no?” Nat asked as Tony ended the call.

“Then we do it your way.” He looked at Bruce and raised his eyebrows. “Right, Bruce?”

He sighed. “I can see I’m out-numbered.”

Nat put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “We’re all on the same side here, honey.”

He nodded. “Okay. United we stand, I guess.”

Tony patted his leg. “Good man,” he said. “But all this talk about corned beef is making me hungry.”

“There’s leftover curry in the fridge.”

Tony squeezed Bruce’s knee. “Did I say good man? Because I meant great.”

Bruce shook his head, blushing a little. Natasha kissed him again. “No arguments here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tries to help Steve

Tony got to the deli at twelve-thirty. He didn’t want to take any chances on missing him. Strange had texted back a terse, “Fine.” an hour after Tony called, so he knew he’d gotten the message. Now, he just had to wait for him. And as a great man once said, The waiting is the hardest part.

He ordered a cup of coffee and took a seat by the window. He was nervous, but not overly so. He, Nat, and a very reluctant Bruce, had all agreed if Strange said no, they’d just break into the facility and let Wanda work her mojo. It wasn’t like Steve was being held captive. It was a hospital not a prison. It was private property, sure, but Tony had never met an administrator, hospital or otherwise, who was immune to cash being thrown at them. If somebody got too upset, he’d just offer them a new wing. A few million and they’d be in the clear. And they’d help Steve. That was the goal here. Getting Steve better. Everyone, including Stephen Strange, agreed on that, if nothing else.

“Would you like a refill, Mr. Stark?” 

Tony glanced up at the server, pulling his glasses down on his nose so he could see her better. “Sure. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If there’s anything else, I’ll be right over there.”

“Awesome-”

“Gina.”

“Awesome, Gina. Thank you.”

She smiled and walked away. Tony watched. He was not immune, even now, to the swish of a skirt, and hers swished pretty well.

“A little young for you, isn’t she?”

“Nothing wrong with enjoying the scenery.”

Strange pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. “Is that what you call it?”

“No. I was just trying to speak in a way you’d understand.”

“I’m not a member of your Stark Tower frat house, Tony. You must have me confused with someone else.”

“I must.”

“And what would Captain Rogers think about your wandering eye?”

“He’s not the jealous type.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

“Among other things.”

Strange fixed him with his high-brow gaze. “Are we finished with the pleasantries?”

“God, I hope so.”

Nat was right: arrogant pricks all around, alright. Strange just seemed to bring it out in him.

Gina came back to the table, glanced cursorily at Strange, then turned her big eyes back to Tony. They were hazel. Thank god. “Are you ordering lunch, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah. Corned beef special for me. Doc?”

“Ham and swiss on rye.”

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

“Another refill, Mr. Stark?”

“Keep it coming, Gina.”

Strange shook his head as she walked away. Tony ignored him. Just barely.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Tony?”

“How’s the hypno-whatsits going?”

“I told you, I won’t talk about his treatment.”

“Come on, Doc, don’t be that way.” He cocked his head, thinking of Natasha. “We’re all on the same side here.”

Strange relaxed a little, his shoulders easing. He _was_ wearing a hoodie. Tony knew he’d be a hoodie-guy on his days off. Tony, himself, was not. He tried not to let it influence him. 

Gina brought coffee, and Strange kept silent until she left.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he said, as she walked away. “But there are legalities involved. If he was staying at the Sanctum, I’d just tell you, because he’d be there as a friend and a guest in my home. But this is a hospital. I don’t own it. Technically, I don’t even work there. I’m just a consulting physician. They have their rules and regulations they need to follow.”

“I do understand that, Stephen. Sometimes I don’t think you realize I do, but I do. It’s just hard. We went through a lot to be together, me and Steve, and not knowing what’s going on with him, it’s...it’s just hard.”

Strange sipped his coffee. “I understand that.”

“What if I just ask you yes or no questions? Will that work? You don’t even have to talk. Just blink once for yes, twice for no.”

“Do you really think charm is going to work on me?”

“Was I being charming?” he asked, all sweetness and innocence. “I wasn’t even trying yet.”

“Please don’t.”

Tony slumped in his seat. “Okay. Look, I’m just going to say it.” He looked Strange in the eye. “I want Wanda to come fix this. She can do it. We both know she can do it. I want her to do it.”

Strange leaned forward, studying Tony, as if trying to decide if this was a joke. “Wanda?” he asked. “You mean the little witch?”

“Yes? Although your connotation is maybe not the classiest thing ever.”

Strange ignored that. “What is it that you want her to fix?”

“Steve,” Tony said simply.

Strange stood up, unfolding himself from the chair. He took his wallet out of his pocket--leather, slim, expensive; Tony grudgingly admired his taste--and tossed some cash onto the table. Twin Andrew J’s gazed in Tony’s direction.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked.

“I’m leaving. I cannot believe you actually expected me to stay.”

“Wait. Doc.” Tony followed him out the door. The guy was tall and took big strides. Tony put on a burst of speed and jumped in front of him, grabbing one hoodie-clad arm. “Wait. Please.”

Strange was shaking his head before the words were even past Tony’s lips. “I’m not listening to this, Stark. This is dangerous. You want that girl to go prospecting around in Captain Rogers’ head like some kind of treasure hunt? My god, Tony, he has just barely started to come back from the brink. Did I not make myself clear last time we spoke? He bit his own wrists open less than six weeks ago. He lost thirty pounds trying to starve himself to death.”

“She can help with that.”

He jerked his arm out of Tony’s grip. “Does your arrogance know no bounds? What you’re suggesting is so far beyond unethical it’s almost criminal.”

Righteous anger bloomed in Tony’s chest. “Don’t you dare talk to me about unethical. You people are using a fucking parlor trick as treatment, and when you don’t have him performing like a show pony for all your doctor pals, you’re keeping him chained up like a goddamn rabid pit-bull.”

“We’re done,” Strange said. “Don’t contact me again, and tell Dr. Banner he’s banned from the property.”

“I’m paying for his room,” Tony spat. “I’m paying for your _doctors_.”

Strange shook his head. “Not anymore, you’re not. I’ll pay for his treatment myself if it means you can’t hold it over our heads. Or his.”

Tony drew in a breath. “I wish to _fuck_ Steve didn’t need you.”

Strange turned on his heel and walked away, winding through the crowded city sidewalk like he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was one of the lucky people who really didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. Tony could fake it with the best of them, but he cared. Too much, probably.

But not enough to stop him. 

He took his phone out of his pocket and pressed six, watching Strange’s retreating back. “Nat. We’re on...Not so good...Tonight. Does she need the jet?...Awesome.” He hung up, and Stephen Strange was nowhere in sight.

Things were getting complicated again. Steve had been gone for three months, his absence a thing Tony felt in every move he made, every thought that crossed his mind. The things Strange said about Steve’s suicide attempts shredded his insides. He could barely bring himself to think about it. Steve, alone in his room, gnawing at his own wrist like an animal caught in a trap trying to free itself. And what was death but ultimate freedom? Unless you believed in Hell--good old, fire and brimstone, Capital H-HELL--that freedom might be a relief. But Steve was Catholic. He _did_ believe in Hell, and wasn’t suicide, to Catholics, right up there with murder and blasphemy? To the religious, wasn’t it a combination of both? If people were made in God’s image, wasn’t suicide like murdering God’s own form?

Tony shuddered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t need this. This was not the kind of thing a person should be thinking about on a sunny early-October afternoon. He needed Steve. He needed his relaxing ways, his steadying company, his calm eyes, his secure, strong arms. For a moment, he thought he was being selfish, then the image of a thin, frightened Steve biting the sensitive skin of his wrist--skin Tony had kissed so lovingly--flashed in his head, and he thought maybe Steve needed him too.

He turned abruptly back toward the Tower. Wanda would be in town by nine. Shift change was at eleven. Rounds right after. By one, things should be settled and relatively quiet. 

One a.m.

The waiting _was_ the hardest part,

\---  
  
It was easy enough getting into the hospital.

They walked up to the door, the three of them, Tony, Natasha, and Wanda. Bruce was taking his ban seriously. Tony did not think he felt bad about it tonight. Tony let Natasha handle the door. She was a spy, after all, she knew her way around a locked door. He and Wanda stood by, letting her do her thing. Wanda picked at her fingernail, seeming bored with this part of it, and Tony thought she came by that honestly. She could have opened the door in less than a second, but seemed comfortable taking a back-seat here. Tony was less comfortable. His hands shook, wanting to fidget, wanting something to do. He shoved them into his pockets and gripped the lining tight.

When the door popped open, they walked inside. At the reception desk, Wanda put the moves on the guard sitting there, a red, misty glow coming from her fingertips. The guy barely had time to turn around before his eyes clouded and he slumped in his seat. 

“You didn’t put him in some kind of hell-dimension, did you?” Tony asked.

Wanda took the man’s cap and laid it gently over his eyes. He looked like a kid all tuckered out from a day at the beach. “All I saw was a young boy and a woman sharing a cookie at a kitchen table,” she said. “It was probably his mother.”

Tony nodded, relieved. He hadn’t wanted to put anyone else through what Wanda had put them through once upon a time.

Nat took point from there, and she led them through the darkened hallways. Bruce had told her how to get to Steve’s room and she led them to it unerringly. They only saw one other person, a pretty blonde nurse, and Wanda worked her magic on her too. Tony didn’t ask where she’d ended up. He was just going to assume Wanda would put her somewhere nice. He had too much to worry about without adding the nurse’s dreams into the mix. A low-grade panic was busy swirling its way through him. His head felt hot, his hands and feet, cold. A bunch of butterflies had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach, and the flap of their wings beat out one word in unison: Steve. Steve. Steve.

He was both thrilled and frightened of seeing him. Of seeing him here in this place so far away from anywhere and any context in which he’d seen him before. Of course, he’d seen him in a hospital--had spent a month beside his bed in one not very long ago--but this was different. That Steve, while physically broken, had still been _Steve_. Had still looked the same, talked the same, acted the same as the man he had known for so long. The only difference was the smile when he saw Tony, the shy, intimate way he reached for his hand, the eyes that suddenly seemed deeper than they had before. But those things, however different, had still felt _normal_ to Tony. Almost as if, on some other level, in some other dimension, they had been happening all along, and their physical bodies were just finally catching up to what their spirits had always been doing.

But this, now. This was something else, altogether. Tony wasn’t sure what to expect. And that was terrifying.

“It’s here,” Nat said, stopping by a metal door. There was a small window set into it, wire embedded in the glass. She looked in.

“Is he in there?” Tony asked.

“He’s thinner, but yes, that’s him.”

Tony trusted her. She knew Steve’s body as well as he did. Maybe better.

Nat had taken the guard’s key-ring, and now she used his key-card to open Steve’s door. She beckoned them inside and then closed the door behind them.

It was a private room. Tony’s money-- _Strange’s_ now, if he’d been serious--had bought him that, at least. There was a chair. A desk. The bed. No pictures on the walls, but a few loose sheets of paper on the desk. Tony picked them up and rifled through them. Landscapes in crayon and watercolors. No pencil for him here. Too dangerous. The thought of that was monumentally sad.

“I’ll stand watch,” Nat whispered. “You guys wake him up and do it.”

Wanda nodded.

Tony stood frozen.

Part of him had assumed Natasha would be the one to handle Steve. But she slipped out of the room leaving the door cracked. Wanda turned expectantly to Tony.

The butterflies’ wings beat faster: SteveSteveSteveSteve.

He dropped to one knee next to the bed. Strange was right. Tony could see he’d lost weight. With a metabolism as fast as his, it would not have taken long to lose thirty pounds. They would have had to feed him around the clock, if they were doing it intravenously, just to give him enough calories to keep his body functioning. Did they induce a coma while they fed him? Strange didn’t say, but it would make sense. An inactive body burned less fuel, making it easier to keep him alive. Tony could ask him. Oh, wait, no, he couldn’t.

“Tony, you have to hurry,” Wanda whispered urgently.

He sighed harshly. “Okay.”

There was a low light in here, coming from a tiny emergency bulb. All the better to see you on our cameras, and shit, Tony hadn’t thought about the cameras.

He saw his hand lift up, saw it moving toward Steve’s shoulder. He was wearing a white t-shirt. Tony loved it when he wore white t-shirts. Or black t-shirts. Or blue button-downs. Or gray sweaters. Or-SteveSteveSteveSteve.

_“Tony.”_

_“Okay.”_

Steve’s skin was hot under the fabric. It always was. At least that hadn’t changed. Tony shook him. Gently. It felt like shaking a sleeping tiger awake.

“Hey. Steve. Wake up.”

Steve shifted under his hand, made an unintelligible sound-- “Huzzzit?”--that was undoubtedly a question. Tony was afraid to answer it. Afraid not to.

“Wake up, baby,” he said, shaking him again. “Rise and shine.”

He shifted again, turning onto his back, and there were his eyes, cloudy but open, and blue, and looking at him. Looking at him.

Steve.

Tears filled Tony’s own eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. He smiled. “Steve,” he said. “Hey. Hi.”

Steve blinked, gazing up at him, then closed his eyes and rubbed them. Actually rubbed them. When they opened, they were as big, blue, and gorgeous as they’d ever been. _More_ gorgeous. Like a princess in a fairy story.

“Hey, beautiful,” Tony said.

For a moment, it was everything Tony had hoped it would be. Steve’s eyes filled with a great, heaving relief, his body relaxed under Tony’s hand. His mouth curved into a smile and his hand began to rise, meaning to touch Tony, meaning to pull him into his arms.

Then it stopped.

Steve recoiled. His face first slammed shut, then turned frightened. He drew himself up, pulling into the corner, getting as far away from Tony as he possibly could. His knees came toward his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He dropped his head down onto them. He rocked himself.

“Go away,” he muttered, and even with his head on his knees, Tony could still hear how wounded he sounded. “Go away. You’re not here. Just go away.”

_You’re not here._

He thought he was hallucinating.

“Steve,” Tony said softly. “Steve, come on. It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here.”

Steve shook his head, not moving it from his knees. “No. No. You’re not here. You’re never here. You need to go. Leave me alone.”

Tony turned helplessly to Wanda. “Do something,” he said. “Do it. Work your magic, witchy woman.”

Wanda shook her head. “I told you, I won’t without his permission. I promised.”

“Oh, fucking _Christ_ , now we all have morals? What happened to Team Bad-Ass?”

He turned back to Steve, anger and frustration coursing through his veins, ready to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. But Steve was already looking at him, already watching him with a cautious hope.

“Steve,” he said, his voice on edge. “I’m here. Okay? It’s me. I need you to look me in the eye and know that it’s me.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. Tony’s favorite lines put in their appearance. He wanted to kiss them so badly. “Say something,” Steve said. “Something only Tony knows.”

His mind went blank. There was nothing. Something only he knew? He didn’t know a goddamn thing.

Then an image flashed in his head. “Daisies,” he said. “We keep daisies on the table all the time.”

“Why?”

“For FRIDAY. ‘Cause she likes them.”

Steve’s shoulders eased a little. “Say something else.”

Tony cast his thoughts out for anything. Everything. “We fought over the toothpaste that time,” he said urgently. “You told me you don't really like milk but you still drink it for the calcium. You’ll only sleep on white sheets for some reason I don’t know and you won’t tell me. You say you don’t like rap, but you know every word to ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’. I don’t even know where the hell you heard it. You got pissed when I called us the Matthew and Mary Crawley of the Avengers. You--ah, Christ, what else? You love peas, but you hate corn. You _still_ won’t tell me what a fucking pangolin is--”

“I told you to Google it.”

“Yeah, well, we both know that’s not going to happen.”

Tony fell silent, and they stared at each other in the semi-gloom of the mental hospital. Steve was breathing in slow, steadying inhales, smooth, flat exhales. His eyes were still questioning, brow still creased.

“Come on, baby,” Tony said weakly. “What else do I have to say?”

Steve swallowed. “Just the one other thing.”

Tony hung his head, laughing under his breath. He knew this one. This was his category. It was Final Jeopardy, and he was going to win it all.   
  
“Hey, you.”

“Fuck you.”

Then Steve was in his arms, holding him, kissing him, making him whole again. “Tony,” Steve said into his shoulder. “Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe. I just...I've been so lost.”

Tony held him tightly, hands clutching him, moving over him, feeling the smooth expanse of his back, the brush of his hair under his fingertips. He kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, anywhere, everywhere. “Shh. I know,” he said in between kisses. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I got you.” There was no way he could hold back the tears anymore. He let them fall as Steve held him dangerously tight.

When Steve finally pulled back, Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. Steve’s fingers went to his jacket, crushing the leather. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Do the doctors know you’re here? What time is it?”

“Hang on,” Tony laughed. “One question at a time.”

Steve smiled his half-smile, and Tony was almost crazy with _want_ of him, need of him. “How did you get in here?”

Tony jerked his head backward, and Steve looked at the door where Wanda stood.

Steve’s fingers slowly uncurled from Tony’s jacket. His eyes raked her from head to toe, taking her in. The lines on his face smoothed out. It was as if he were remembering something vital that had been forgotten. For all Tony knew, that’s exactly what was happening.

“Wanda?” Steve asked. “Are you real?”

She nodded, quick and light. Her own tears were falling, catching the light from the bulb and shining like diamonds. 

He held out his hand to her. “Come here, red. Let me look at you.”

Tony moved so she could come to him. She sat on the bed beside him and Steve grasped her shoulders, searching her face. His hand rose and brushed along her cheek, over her hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and she laughed through her tears.

It was entirely different from his reunion with Natasha. With her, it had been like he was falling into her, letting her catch him, letting her hold him and heal him. The way he was with Wanda was nothing like that. In Tony’s arms just now, Steve had been soft and pliant, taking comfort and care, but when he put his arms around the girl beside him, he seemed almost to swell. He became larger, even to Tony’s eyes, harder, a protective barrier between her and the world. Natasha had said Steve was like a father to Wanda, and Tony saw it now in full force. The way he held her against his chest, letting her tuck her head under his chin, his jaw firm and strong, his eyes soft. Tony had never experienced a fatherly hug, but this was one. This was the epitome of one, and the slight jealousy he felt paled in comparison to the utter awe and pride he felt in Steve.

Steve cupped his hand around the back of her head, holding her gently but firmly. “I'm so sorry about Vision, red,” he said into her ear. “He was a good man.” Wanda nodded, not lifting her head from his chest, content to be held, content to be comforted. “I would take his place if I could,” Steve went on. “In a heartbeat.”

“I know.”

“I never wanted that for you.”

Now she lifted her head, and she lifted it high, looking Steve in the eye, and the pride in his own face was brilliant, blinding. 

“He went out strong,” she said.

Steve nodded. “That’s what we should all hope for.”

“Yes.”

He glanced down at himself, then met her eye steadily again. “I wish you hadn’t seen me this way.”

She laid her hand against his cheek, doing it so her thumb was over his lips, silencing them. “It’s alright,” she said. “I came to help you.”

Confusion furrowed his brow once more. “What do you mean?” he asked. “How can you help me?”

Wanda cut her gaze to Tony. “I thought he knew.”

Tony wet his lips, put his hand on Steve’s thigh. “She’s going to fix you,” he said. “Magic all that bad shit right out of your head.”

Steve looked between the two of them, his partner and his surrogate daughter. The confusion was still there, and the pride, but now a steely resolve came to the fore, overlying the rest.

“No,” he said.

Tony blinked in surprise. He moved his thumb over Steve’s thigh, soothing him. “Baby,” he said calmly, “it’s okay. We’ve got this figured out. She can do it. She can take care of you. And then you can come home.”

Steve shook his head. “No.”

“Steve--”

“Tony. _No._ ”

“Well, why _not_?” Tony cried.

Instead of answering, Steve turned to Wanda. He took her face in his hands, framing it, and gazed at her for a long time before drawing her close and kissing her cheek. “I’m glad I got to see you. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”

Wanda put her hand over Steve’s. “It wasn’t for nothing. We got to be together for a little while.” Tony stared at them in disbelieving silence as Wanda kissed both of Steve’s cheeks. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, little red.”

Then she stood and turned for the door.

Tony leapt to his feet and grasped her arm. “Where are you going?” he asked. “Come on. Do your thing. Fix him.”

She shook her head. “He said no,” she said as if that said it all. As if there was to be no argument about it.

“Wanda--”

“I told you I would only do it with his permission. He said no. I can’t do it.”

He whirled toward Steve. “Baby, listen to me. Let her help. Let her do this. Please.”

“No.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony said. He pushed past Wanda and opened the door. Nat stood outside. He pulled her into the room. “Nat,” he babbled, “Nat, please talk some fucking sense into these people.”

She looked at them all, taking in Wanda’s passive stance, Steve’s solid form, and Tony himself, all wild-eyed and frantic. 

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Hi, Nat,” Steve said from the bed.

“Hi, honey.”

“Thanks for coming, but…”

“But nothing,” Tony said. He put his hand on Natasha’s shoulder and jabbed a finger at Steve. “Tell him to let her do it. Use your Jedi mind tricks, Vulcan brain...crushing...thing you do and make. Him. Do it.”

She looked at Steve seriously. “You don’t want her to help you?”

“I can’t,” he said softly. “I have to do this the right way. I have to put the work in.” He looked at each of them, his eyes flitting past Tony’s before settling on Nat’s again. “Thank you, all of you, for wanting to help, but,” he sighed, “I have to do this on my own.”

Natasha looked at him. It was one of those Rogues-only looks that Tony hated so much. But he let it go on, let it happen without a word, praying Natasha could convey to him how important it was that he let Wanda take care of him. What he was talking about--doing it the right way, putting the work in--was insanity. Everyone in the room could see it except Steve. So, let Nat give him a look, let her tell him with her eyes the way things were. If it got the point across, then it was worth it. Even if watching it made Tony feel like he was drowning in his own icy waters, and for him, there was no hope of a life preserver.

Seconds passed, and finally, Natasha nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Tony asked. “What does ‘alright’ mean?”

She turned to him, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. She touched his hand consolingly. “He won’t,” she said.

Tony felt all the air leave his body. Nat clamped her hand on his, giving him an anchor. He held back tightly. He looked past her shoulder at Steve. Looked into his eyes, his blue, blue eyes. “Steve?” he pleaded.

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Despair rolled over him. “Will you just do anything to not be with me?” Tony asked.

Steve closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hand.

Tony stared at him. “Please. Baby, please.”

Steve didn’t raise his head. “You should go.”

“So, that’s it?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “That’s it.”

Tony jerked his hand out of Natasha’s. Anger and hurt battled inside him, vying for dominance. It didn’t really matter which won. It all came down to the same thing.

“Fine,” Tony said. “Fuck off, Rogers.”

He turned and left the room.

  
Tony wandered the streets until dawn. Alone. He didn’t wait for the ladies, didn’t wait to hear how he’d fucked up and made Steve decide that his precious pride was more important than being with his family. Because that’s what it was--just pure, grade A, seven deadly sins-style pride. To hell with everything else. To hell with every _one_ else. Steve had to do it his way. He had to keep that goddamn soldier’s pride intact. Nevermind that Wanda had come thousands of miles. Nevermind that Nat had compromised her relationship, and Bruce had compromised his standards and his reputation. Nevermind that Tony was falling apart. At least Steve had his pride. At least that was still whole.

It wasn’t until the sun peeked over the horizon that Tony realized how tired he was. How drained. How hungry. The sadness he knew about. No surprise there.

He ducked into the nearest deli and sat down. The waitress came over with a cup and a pot of coffee. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

He looked up at her. Hazel eyes. Swishy skirt. “I know you,” he said. “Tina.”

“Gina.”

“Right.”

“You don’t look so hot,” she said, pouring his coffee. “Rough night?”

Tony laughed. “Yes, my dear Gina, it was definitely that.”

“Too bad,” she said. “You should have come out with me. My nights are only rough when I want them to be.” She smiled at him, the curve of her lips as suggestive as the words she said.

It was seven a.m. He hadn’t been propositioned this early in the morning for awhile.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-three. How old are you?”

“A lot older than that.”

Gina shrugged prettily. “It’s just a number, right?”

He thought of a certain centenarian. “That’s for sure.”

She wrote her number on a piece of paper and tore if off her pad. “Call me,” she said. “Easy or rough, I’ll take it either way.”

Tony looked at the paper, at her round, girlish hand. Light years from the scribble that spelled out the inscription at the bottom of that drawing he’d found. So, too, had been the casual way she asked him out. Not like that other time. That other person stumbling his way through it even with Tony’s blatant coaxing and coaching. Not to mention the complete and utter differences in physicality. 

Maybe completely and utterly different was exactly what he needed.

Tony drank the rest of his coffee. “Gina?” he called. “I need you, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOO! I can't seem to stop putting these poor guys through shit. Sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas...and would you like a little more salt for that wound?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

He had to hand it to New York: even though it was a toilet, it sure was pretty when it snowed.

Tony stood at the window, the whole of New York at his feet. Snow fell in great, huge, cartoon-style flakes, covering everything in a blanket of white. 

It had started while he, Nat, and Bruce sat watching _Home Alone_ for the umpteenth time, drinking eggnog and noshing on peking duck from the Chinese place down the street. There had been a time when Christmas meant all of them drinking beer and watching _Die Hard_ , but no one suggested that this year, especially Tony who was generally a sucker for tradition. At least the ones they had created together, their little Avengers family. 

Instead, he’d just texted Nat and suggested a quiet night. She’d texted back within two minutes. An easy, “Sounds perfect. What time?” and she and Bruce had shown up at seven with the duck in tow.

They’d eaten dinner, chatting and laughing, talking about everything but one thing, then settled in to watch the movie. Bruce fell asleep thirty minutes in, and Tony and Natasha watched the rest while the snow began to fall outside.

“Are you staying tonight?” he asked, turning off the TV after Kevin had saved the day.

“Do you mind?”

“Hell, no. In fact, I made up your room. Just in case.”

She took him in her arms and held him against her, rubbing his back brusquely. “How are you?” she asked. “Really?”

“I’m okay,” he answered. “You know. The same.”

“No Gina tonight, huh?”

He laughed and squeezed her again before letting her go. “No. She’s spending Christmas Eve with her parents on Long Island. We’re having lunch tomorrow.”

“Meeting the parents?”

“Oh, hell no. It’s not like that.”

“Christmas lunch?” she said skeptically. “Sounds exactly like that.”

Tony considered, then shrugged. “Shit. I don’t know. I have no clue what normal relationship stuff is.”

Nat laughed. “Me neither. This is as close to normal as I’ve ever gotten.”

“I guess I had almost-normal with Pep, but...you know...after that.” He shrugged. 

She hugged him again, abrupt and tight. “I love you, Tony.”

He couldn’t really blame heartbreak anymore for the lump in his throat. It had been months now. Six since Steve had been taken, three since their failed attempt to heal him. He’d moved on. Tried to, at least. Gina was young and bright and fun. They laughed a lot. They drank a lot. They fucked a lot. Was that a quote, unquote normal relationship? He didn’t know. He didn’t love her, he knew that. He liked her. He liked spending time with her. But that was pretty much it. She wasn’t “the one”. That was something he didn’t like to think about, because he was still pretty sure who that was. Just because “the one” didn’t agree didn’t make it any less true.

But he had Natasha. And Bruce. And Peter. And even Thor sometimes. He’d had a few meet-ups with Pepper, and they’d went well. The fact that Steve was out of the picture had probably even made that part easier. 

He’d run into Stephen Strange only once. 

There’d been a pre-Thanksgiving fundraising gala for the homeless of New York, and Pepper had talked him into going. She hadn’t had to talk too hard. It had been a cause Maria had always championed, and he liked to keep up with it.

They’d been standing at the bar with drinks when Strange come up beside them to place his own order. Strange didn’t look his way, but Tony knew the bastard had seen him. Finally, he could stand it no more. He hated being ignored.

“Put my next round on his tab,” Tony said to the bartender as he brought Strange’s drink. “He likes paying for things.”

Strange cocked an eyebrow in Tony’s direction. “I do. Especially when it’s a good cause.”

“Yeah, you love a good ‘cause’, don’t you, Strange?”

“I’m not going to get into a pissing contest with you, Tony,” he said coolly. 

Tony bristled, and Pepper laid her hand on his arm. “I hope not,” she said. “I just bought this dress. I’d hate to ruin it.”

“Vintage Versace,” Strange said. “I’d hate to ruin it, too.” He nodded at her. “Especially since it looks so beautiful on you.”

“Oh, _seriously_?” Tony grumbled, as Pepper laughed. “Get out of here, Stephen.”

He glanced disdainfully at Tony, then leaned closer to Pepper. “Maybe you’ll save me a dance,” he said. “You could even wear your heels.”

She laughed again as he walked away. Tony rolled his eyes. “That guy is such a dick.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought he was charming.”

“That’s not charm. That’s ass-holery.”

“Hmm,” she said, a small, mischievous smile on her lips. “I _thought_ he reminded me of you.”

Tony shook his head. “That’s it. You’re walking home, Miss Potts.”

Tony supposed it could have gone worse.

He hugged Natasha again, then let her go. “Love you too, kid,” he said. “And thanks for coming over. I don’t like the holidays, and they suck twice as much if you have to do them alone.”

“You’ll never have to do them alone, dummy,” she said, punching his arm lightly.

Nope, not heartbreak anymore. What was the alternative? Old age? Fine. Old-man tears were allowed.

They walked back into the living room, watching the snow fall on the city outside. It was beautiful.

Before he could stop himself, Tony said, “Do you ever hear anything? From…”

She shook her head, knowing exactly who he meant. “Not really.”

“Not really, or no?”

“What do you want to know, Tony?” she asked quietly. “I'll tell you, but you have to tell me you want to hear it.”

“I want to,” he said, then shook his head. “But don’t tell me. It really doesn’t matter anymore. Does it?”

“If I answer that, I’ll be telling you something,” she said with a sly, fox-like smile. 

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “And you all say _I’m_ the smart-ass.” 

She shrugged. “It’s a family trait.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

On the couch behind them, Bruce let out a little snore. They turned in tandem, identical fond looks on their faces.   
  
“And then there’s _him_ ,” Tony said.

“I know. We kinda hit the jackpot with that one.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “We?”

“I’ll share my toys,” she said, then arched an eyebrow of her own. “Up to a point.”

“Fair enough.”

“Think you can help me get him to bed?”

“My pleasure.” And between the two of them, they managed quite nicely.

Christmas lunch was with the parents, after all.

Tony tried to be okay with it. He didn’t want to hurt Gina. She really was a very nice girl, but if he’d taken anything away from last night with Nat and Bruce, it was that he wanted what they had. And he couldn’t have that with Gina.

But he played the part for her sake, for her parents’ sake. They were nice too, if slightly stodgy, and Tony did his best to be kind to them in turn. He’d let her down easy in a week or two. She was young, pretty, vivacious, by Valentine’s Day, she’d have a new guy to go dancing with. Maybe the new one would be able to keep up with her a little better.

They ate at a pleasant steakhouse, then said good-bye to her folks at the door. Tony kissed the mother’s cheek, and shook the father’s hand. Gina said she’d see them later, then she led Tony away, deeper into Manhattan while the parents went back to Long Island.

“They liked you,” she said.

“They’re nice.”

“You let my dad pick up the check.”

“He wanted to.”

“I know. He thought you’d made a big deal out of getting it yourself.”

Tony shrugged. He’d offered, but the father was insistent. They were close to the same age. The guy wasn’t in Tony’s league, but he didn’t look hard-up, either. Why shouldn’t he get the check if he wanted to?

Gina held his hand. “It was a good move,” she said, and Tony felt worse. Maybe he should have acted like a jerk. Maybe it would have made it easier in the long run. 

“I have to stop in to work,” she said. “Just for a sec. Then we can go back to your place.”

“Are you going back to your parents’ tonight?”

“Yes. But I have to give you your present first,” she said, and bit his earlobe.

He smiled dutifully. Two more weeks. Because she was nice.

They went into the deli. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Sit down.”

“Okay.” 

Tony sat down.

The place was busy, but not packed. People wanting a quick bite before Christmas dinner, or picking up trays of cold-cuts and cheese to serve as appetizers for their guests. One or two lonely souls who were obviously taking their sandwiches back to their apartments to eat a solitary meal in lieu of a family gathering.

Tony felt a mixed-bag of emotions for those that he saw, especially the loners. Sadness because they were alone, but also a breed of jealousy because at least they _knew_ they were alone. They knew what tomorrow would bring. They didn’t have the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. 

That was when Tony saw him.

He was turned away, but he’d know those shoulders anywhere, the line of the back, the dark-blond hair just long enough to touch the collar of his jacket. This guy was standing-- _standing_ \-- but there was no mistake--this guy had once been _his_ guy. His best guy.

Tony stood up and walked closer as if being drawn forward by a magnet. He was at the counter paying. In cash. Tony felt himself smile at that bit of old-fashioned charm.

“Thank you,” Steve said. “Merry Christmas.” Then he turned around, and Tony was there.

A thousand emotions ran over Steve’s face when he saw him. Tony watched them all, named as many as he could--apprehension, fear, worry, longing. He looked for love, but either it wasn’t there, or Steve kept it hidden.

“Tony,” he said, and his voice was the same. That same baritone that, for a while, at least, had meant everything was right in Tony’s world.

“Hi, Steve.”

“I didn’t--” he wet his lips nervously, the pink of his tongue, rabbit-quick. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

Tony was holding it together fairly well. He kept his body easy, his voice, aloof. Nevermind that his guts were boiling inside his skin. Nevermind that his brain was going haywire and his heart was racing so fast it felt like an attack. The butterflies were back, beating their wings in that old, familiar rhythm--SteveSteveSteveSteve.

“You look good,” Steve said. Because that was what you said, wasn’t it? When you saw an ex in public? _You look good. You too. How’s things? Good, you? Good. Well… Well…_

Tony hated it so much. But he was powerless to stop it.

“Yeah, and look at you,” he found himself saying. “All bi-pedal.”

The half-smile shot an arrow through Tony’s heart, lodging it deep. Tony only barely kept the wince of pain off his face.

Steve shifted the bag he was holding and lifted up a black cane. “Well, _tri_ -pedal, I guess, but, yeah.”

“All you need is a monocle and a top hat and you’ll be just like the Monopoly guy.”

The half-smile again. The down-cast eyes. Oh, good Christ.

“Uncle Pennybags.”

“Huh?”

“That’s his name,” Steve explained. “Rich Uncle Pennybags.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Steve shook his head.

“Well, fuck me.”

Steve laughed back in his throat. It wasn’t his bedroom-laugh, but it wasn’t his regular out-in-public laugh either. It was a combination of both, and Tony wanted to drag him away. Just take him somewhere, anywhere, and have his way with him. The angle would be different now that he was on his feet. He’d only kissed him a couple of times while he was standing, and those had been so long ago, so _long_ , right at the end of the Thanos thing. He’d nearly forgotten what it was like, what it was like to have Steve towering over him, his head bent, his back curved, his hands on him, his mouth on him.

Tony took a step back. “Well…” he said.

Steve blinked and shifted. A pink blush had crept onto his cheeks. His blue eyes found the door, planning his escape. Tony was both hurt and relieved.

“Yeah, um...well…”  
  
“There you are.”

Tony turned his head. A girl was standing next to him, threading her arm through his, kissing his cheek. Part of him thought he should know who she was. The rest of him had no fucking clue-- _SteveSteveSteveSteve_ \--

“Who’s this?” her voice curious. Expectant.

“Uh--”

And that was all.

Steve saved him. Like he’d saved him a hundred times, maybe a thousand, since they’d met all those years ago. Like he’d saved him in every possible way. He didn’t have to. He could have just stood by and let Tony flounder, trying to tell this familiar, unknown girl who this tall, blond, nerdy, pig-headed, sweet, gentle, _perfect_ man was, but he didn’t. He saved him. Again.

“Nobody, really,” Steve said, smiling a little, and everything crashed back into place for Tony. Gina, her name was Gina. She was his girlfriend. Had been for three months. She was nice. “We used to know each other.”

Gina tugged Tony closer and put her head on his shoulder. It was a quietly possessive gesture, one Tony wasn’t even sure she knew she was making. “Oh. That’s nice. Are you in town for Christmas?”

Steve nodded. “Something like that.” He shifted the bag again. It was pretty small. One of those solitary sandwiches. He turned his eyes to Tony. They were the same. The same blue that had made him weak in the knees since day one. The Helicarrier. Forever ago now. But those eyes were still the same. Captain Steve Rogers: breaking hearts since 2012. “It was nice seeing you again, Tony,” he said. “Really. Take care.”

He nodded at Gina, his smile only faltering a little, then he left, using his cane, but walking upright, his shoulders up and back, spine straight, head up. 

Was he feeling nothing? Tony wondered. Had that night in the hospital _really_ been it? Tony watched him out the door, still silent, hating him, wanting him, loving him in spite of everything.

“Wasn’t that Captain America?” Gina asked doubtfully.

Tony shook his head. Through the window, he saw Steve turn the corner. Where was he staying? Was he living here now? Had Fury found him a place? Had Nat known? Was that what she was going to tell him? “No. It wasn’t.”

“It looked like him.”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling away from her. “A lot of people make that mistake.”

“Are you okay?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah.”

“Are you ready to go?”

_Two more weeks._ “Sure. Let’s go.”

  
He tried to beg off on the sex. Gina was insistent. He said he was coming down with something. She said she was going down on something. He said he’d feel better tomorrow. She said he certainly would, it was her personal guarantee. He said, no, really, he wasn’t up for it. She said he would be, all he had to do was let her…

So, he let her.

And it was fine. Not perfect, maybe, not hot and sweet and passionate, but fine. Had it always just been fine, or was it just because his mind was cross-referencing now? Before, he had actively tried to not make comparisons, but now, suddenly, he was thinking that her hands were too soft. Her hair smelled like coconuts. Her eyes were hazel. _Hazel_ , for god’s sake. Where were the callouses? Where was the menthol scent of cheap shaving lotion? Where were the ocean blue eyes that should be looking at him from under sooty lashes set into pale-as-cream skin?

Fine. It was fine. But “fine” really wasn’t enough for him now.

She lay beside him after they were done, her perfect breasts bare. “You really don’t feel good, do you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Yeah. That felt a little off.”

“I’m sorry.”

She kissed his cheek. “It’s okay.” She got out of bed, got dressed, and went into the bathroom. “Do you want me to stay?” she called. She peed with the door open. Steve would never do that. Tony’d had his penis in his mouth dozens of times, but he’d never seen it used for its primary purpose. “My brother’s coming home tonight, but I can stay if you want.”

“No,” Tony said. “I’m fine. Probably just a twenty-four-hour thing. You go see your brother.”

Gina came out of the bathroom, already zipping her coat up. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am.”

“Okay,” she said, and kissed him quickly. “I’ll call you tomorrow and see how you are.”

“Sounds good.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Was it wrong to hope she wouldn’t call?

“Are you really ill, boss?”

Tony laughed. She’d waited until Gina was gone before asking, and that was good. She always erred on the side of discretion. It was one of the things he loved about FRIDAY. JARVIS’ instincts had not been as finely tuned. He had interrupted more than one sexual escapade with a comment or a question. Once, he’d frightened the poor girl Tony’d been with so much she’d ran out of the room naked, screaming about UFOs and alien voices. Of course, it hadn’t helped that they’d both been done up on some high-octane coke at the time. On second thought, maybe JARVIS had been trying to tell him something with his interruptions without coming right out and questioning his sometimes questionable taste in partners.  
  
“No, FRI,” he said. “I’m alright. Just tired, I guess.”

“You need more B-12, boss. I could order you a vitamin tablet,” she paused, “or you could just get more sun.”

“Been a little vampiric lately, haven’t I?”

“Yes. You have. It’s not good for you.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“And your alcohol consumption has gone up, too.”

“I know.”

“That’s not good for you, either.”

“It is the holidays, FRI.”

She fell silent and he lay in bed, waiting for her reply. When she didn’t say anything, he sat up. “FRIDAY? Are you there, angel?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re right,” he said, the absurdity of apologizing to what was basically a computer-generated secretary/babysitter/friend/wife not lost on him. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been taking care of myself. I’ll do better, okay?”

“You’ve had a difficult year,” she said consolingly.

“Yeah,” he answered, then, thinking about the cabin, thinking about _home_ , “It wasn’t all bad, though, was it?”

“No. In fact, there were times when I’d never seen you happier.”

“Yeah.” 

“Would you like me to order the vitamins?”

“Might as well. But I'll start going out more, too. In the daylight.”

“That would be lovely, boss.”

“For now, I think I’ll just take a little snooze. Okay?”

“Good idea.”

“Wake me if you need me.”

“I will,” she said.

Tony turned on his side, pulled the blanket over his shoulder, and slept. It was dreamless. That was a relief.

He came up out of sleep a few hours later. He squinted his eyes and looked at his watch. 12:01. Christmas was over. That was a relief, too.

“Lights up to 15%, please, FRI,” he muttered in a sleep-addled voice, and the room brightened. Not much, but enough that he could find his way to the bathroom and climb into the shower. The scent of coconut Gina left behind was still clinging to him, surrounding him, wrapping around him like a shroud. He couldn’t stand it, that fruity, cloying scent. It was too much. 

He stood in the shower and scrubbed it away, knowing it probably wasn’t actually there, at all, knowing it was probably psychosomatic, but also knowing that the longer he stood under the showerhead, the less he smelled it. _Gotta change the sheets, too,_ he thought, as he finally turned the shower off. _I won’t be able to sleep in there until I do._

With that in his head, he drug some sweats and a t-shirt on. Sleep was over for a while. He was too tired to change the sheets and not tired enough to sleep in there without changing them. Thank god for the lab.

He padded down the hall, thoughts of coffee and plans for a new suit for Peter dancing in his head. Fuck sugarplums. What the hell was a sugarplum, anyway? _Maybe the kid knows,_ he thought. _Maybe he can tell me while I work on his suit._

The image of Peter sitting on the old leather sofa talking about sugarplums was half-formed in the back of his mind when he saw someone there, standing at the window, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking down at the city.

There was no real surprise. An initial jolt at seeing someone--anyone--here in this once-public space that had, more recently, become much more private, but that was all. He didn’t have drop-in visitors. He invited people sometimes, but no one except Thor came here unannounced. But there he was, his body outlined in wintry blue, the light turning his already pale skin unearthly white. He had gained a little weight since Tony had seen him in the hospital, but he was still thin. This afternoon, he’d been wearing a leather coat, but he’d tossed it onto the back of the couch, and standing there in just his sweater, he was definitely thinner than when he had shared his life with Tony.

He didn’t turn when Tony came into the room, even though he had heard him. Even without super-soldier hearing, a person could have heard even Tony’s barefoot approach. It was midnight-silent. Not even the street made much noise, not this high up, anyway.

Tony stopped at the mouth of the hallway, watching him watching the city as if he did it all the time. As if he belonged here. He _had_. Once. They both had. But seeing him here in the window, told Tony once and for all that neither of them really belonged here anymore. But here they were. They hadn’t been together in this room since before the final fight. Since before Steve died.

“Is it still snowing?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. “No. It stopped.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A while.”

“Are you going to stand there all night?”

“I don’t know.”

“How’d you get in?”

“I tried my access code. It worked.”

“What if it hadn’t?”

“I would have left.”

“You know, some people ring the bell.”

Steve shrugged and Tony knew a moment of utter homesickness for him. He’d been gone so long.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” Tony asked. He perched on the back of a low-slung chair, just watching him, looking at him in the cold, white light. The clouds must have parted a little, enough for the moon to shine through. There was no light like that cast by a winter moon. He was no artist--not like Steve--but even he knew that. That light was special. Unique.

“I asked FRIDAY,” Steve answered. “She said you were here, and that you were alone.” He turned his head a little, not meeting Tony’s eye. That pale light outlined the smooth plane of his cheek. “She’s pretty, by the way. Seems nice.”

“She is.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you. You deserve someone nice.”

“For a change,” Tony said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them, barely before they were formed in his head.

Steve's lips curved into a small, sad smile. “Yeah. For a change.” He raised a hand and pressed his fingertips to the window. Even from here, Tony could see the ghostly image of its reflection reaching back, a mirror-twin only prevented from grasping his hand and pulling him away by a thin, icy pane of glass. “I’m sorry about what I did to you,” he said.

“Which part?”

“Trying to kill you. They said I almost did. I’m sorry.”

“You know what was worse?” Tony asked, bitterness creeping in.

“What?”

“Watching you try to kill yourself. That was worse, Steve.”

Steve swallowed. Sighed. “You’re right. I should have waited.”

Tony rubbed his temples. His jaw clenched. “No, dumb-ass, you shouldn’t have done it, at all.”

Implacable. Immovable. “I swore I’d never hurt you again.”

“You don’t think that hurt? Watching that? Hearing from Stephen fucking Strange that you tried it again?” He clenched his fist on his knee. “How many times _did_ you try?”

“A few. I don’t really remember. They kept me drugged for a while in the hospital. It makes it hard to know for sure.”

“Ball-park it for me.”

“Three. Maybe four.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, he didn’t enter into it much.”

Tony snorted cynically. “Always with the wit, huh, Rogers?”

Steve nodded. “I deserve that.”

Tony stood up from the chair and folded his arms. Sleep was out of the question, and the idea of the lab was even dubious now. No one but Steve made him feel this way. Angry, hurt, sick with love and mad with desire. In all his long life, no one could ever tear him apart the way Steve Rogers could. Did. Was doing. Right this second.

“Look,” Tony began, “not that I don’t love waking up to find you lurking out here, but was there something you wanted?”

Steve bowed his head, bit his full, red lower lip. His brow furrowed as he thought, but when he turned to face Tony finally, the only thing on his face was a determined resolve. 

“The same thing I’ve always wanted,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height. Even so much thinner, it was still impressive. “You. Just one last time. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

Hot threads of lust traced through Tony’s core and tangled in his stomach. He wanted that, too. Wanted it, but hadn’t dared to think it, let alone say it.

“I’ll understand if you say no,” Steve was saying. "I know you've got a girl--”

“Stop,” Tony sighed harshly. “Just stop talking. Of course, I’m not going to say no.”

Steve’s shoulders eased. His eyes did not. They were direct. Frank. Filled with hot, caged want.

Tony jerked his head back down the hallway. “Come on,” he said, but Steve didn’t move. Tony rolled his eyes. “What, you want to do it out here?”

“I don’t want to go where you’ve been with anybody else.”

Deep down, he was glad Steve had said that. Deep down, he didn’t want that either. He beckoned him forward. “Come on.”

Steve came.

Tony led him down the hallway. He’d had to jostle past Clint or Bruce or Rocket to get down this hall once. He and Nebula had held intricate conversations about her mad father right here outside Thor’s door while the god lounged in the doorway, sometimes removing his artificial eye and wiping it carelessly on his shirt before popping it back into place.

His own room was at the end of the hall, large, spacious, luxurious, but Tony stopped at a different door and pushed it open.

The bed was large, but the room itself was sparse, almost monastic. There was a dresser. A chair. A TV. It was very much like the room Steve had lived in at the hospital. Steve might have thought so, too. His eyes moved restlessly, taking in the familiar walls, the bed, the few books on the shelf. A lone Yankees pennant hung on the wall.

“Here?” he asked.

Tony nodded. “Is that a problem?”

Steve moved forward instead of speaking, and took Tony in his arms. He kissed him. It was hard, determined, rough in a way Steve rarely was, but it was still undeniably _him_ , and Tony responded in kind, kissing back with a fervor that, for all the times he’d kissed Gina, he hadn’t felt in months.

Steve walked them toward the bed, still kissing him, limping on his bad left leg, until the backs of Tony’s knees hit the mattress.

“Wait,” Tony said.

“I don’t want to wait.”

“I didn’t say stop,” Tony said, and grabbed the hem of Steve’s sweater. “Just take this off.”

Steve pulled it over his head and threw it away. His t-shirt went with it, and he stood in front of Tony, naked from the waist up. Bare, with no covering, Tony could finally see just how skinny he’d gotten. The muscle was still mostly there, but there was no spare skin, no spare anything, at all. It hurt Tony’s heart, seeing him like that, and all he could think of was Strange telling him Steve had gained some of the weight _back_.

Tony touched him gently, running his fingers over the pronounced ridges of his ribs, the concavity of his stomach, the jut of his hip-bones. “My god, Steve,” he whispered, “what did you do to yourself?”

Steve’s already hard eyes grew harder still. “Stop talking, Tony. I didn’t come here to talk.”

He pushed him back and Tony fell onto the bed. Steve was above him in a second, kissing him, his hands shoving Tony’s shirt up, lips leaving his mouth to suck bruises onto his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest. 

It was overwhelming. The feel of him pressed so completely against Tony, heavy, solid, _there,_ the familiar, intoxicating scent of him--the same cheap aftershave. Tony hadn’t even realized they still made it until he and Steve moved into the cabin and it showed up on Steve’s side of the vanity. Skin Bracer. Tony remembered the commercials from his childhood, couldn’t help the way the tag-line sang through his head every time he saw the bottle: Byyy _Men_ nen.

He ran his hands over Steve’s arms, his back, then touched his cheek, wanting to slow this down a little, wanting to kiss him, wanting to draw it out and make it last.

Steve grabbed his hand and pinned it to the bed above his head. In an instant, his other hand joined it. Steve clasped them both in one of his fists and held them against the mattress. 

“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “I’ll do everything. It’s fine. I’ve got this.”

The harsh tone, the rough handling was like a bucket of ice water. It was too much like that night at the cabin when Steve had jerked him off in such a dry fashion. _That was nice, private._ Tony yanked his hands out of Steve’s grip.

“I’m not your fucking sex-doll, Rogers,” he snapped. “God, you go away for awhile and you come back a totally different person. What’d they do to you in that hospital?”

Steve stilled instantly, his breath catching in his throat. He closed his eyes, his hair caught the lamplight, spinning it into gold, as he pushed himself off the bed and stood up. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I--You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

He limped into the corner where he’d thrown his sweater and pulled it over his head.

Tony sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Regret was not a cure for desire, but they didn’t mix well either. It was like oil and water coursing through his veins. “Steve,” he said. “Wait. Don’t go.”

“No, you were right.” Steve adjusted his sweater, looked for his cane, and made his slow way over to it. “I shouldn’t have come here. I knew it was a mistake.” His eyes had lost that cold, hard shine. Now he just looked lost. “I just--when I saw you this afternoon, I remembered how good it was between us. For awhile, you know. At home. And I guess I just wanted to feel that again before--” he stopped. Bent down and picked up his cane. “It was selfish of me,” he said. “I’m sorry, Tony. Really. For everything. I really did never want to hurt you.”

Tony stood up and crossed to where he stood. Steve flinched back as he touched his cheek. “I know that,” Tony said, running his fingers over his face, then back into his hair. It was familiar, the feel of his skin, the smooth silkiness of his hair. Tony squeezed his hand into a gentle fist, knotting it into those same old golden strands.

He ducked his head, trying to catch Steve’s downcast eyes. When he did, it was heaven. “Don’t go,” he said, shaking him a little. “Stay. Okay? Stay with me. You’re not the only one who wants to feel that again.”

“I don’t know.”

Tony backed toward the bed, tugging Steve with him by the hand. “We don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just lay here with me. Okay? Come on, just lie down. Just-Just be here. Okay?”

“Are you sure?”

Tony laughed under his breath and climbed onto the bed. He pulled the covers back and got under them. “Of course, I’m sure. I’m always sure. Come here.”

Steve kicked his right shoe off, then leaned heavily on his cane to toe off the left. He leaned the cane against the dresser and sat down. The mattress gave under him, but not much. It was firm, and he was lighter now. He stripped his sweater off but kept his t-shirt on, and slid between the sheets, lying close to, but not touching Tony.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Steve,” Tony said, and closed the distance between them, draping himself over Steve’s chest, throwing his leg over Steve’s leg. “Better?”

Steve let out a breath, relaxing under Tony, sinking into the mattress. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s better.”

Tony wriggled closer and tossed his arm across Steve’s waist. “Put your arm around me or something,” he complained. “Let’s pretend that we like each other.”

Steve’s arm came around him, his hand settling onto its old place on his hip. Tony could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I don’t have to pretend. I like you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Tony said. “You never answered any of my letters.”

“I didn’t know how.”

“So, there’s this thing called paper. And these _other_ things called pens. You put one on the other and out comes a letter. I _know_ you know how paper works, Steve.”

Steve laughed, his thumb began to move, slipping across his hip in soft, small arcs. “Same old Tony,” he said. “You’ll never change, will you?”

Tony pressed his lips to Steve’s chest. It didn’t have to be a kiss. Not if Steve didn’t want it to be. “Probably not. I’m an old dog. No new tricks for me.”

“You’re not old.”

“Older than I used to be.”

“Me too.”

Steve slipped his hand off Tony’s hip and drug it up his back then trailed it back down over his spine using just his fingertips. The effect was dizzyingly familiar and well-loved. “Anyway,” he said, “you stopped writing. After a while.”

Tony pressed more of those not-kisses onto his chest. “You kicked me out of your room.” A little sweep of his tongue against Steve’s neck. “I can take a hint.”

“I didn’t kick you out,” he protested softly, and his hand finally slid under Tony’s shirt to touch his bare skin. “You left. And besides, you broke in in the first place.”

Tony shifted, moving until he was lying partly on top of Steve, his legs on either side of Steve’s right thigh, Tony’s own within easy distance of Steve’s center. If he just bent his knee a little… “You broke in here,” he pointed out, experimentally rolling his hips. Pleasure burst through him at the contact. “That makes us even.”

“I didn’t break in,” Steve said breathlessly. “I used my code. Bend your knee again, Tony. More. Right there. Don’t move. If you didn’t want me to use it, you would have deactivated it.”

“I did want you to use it. You have no idea how much.”

“I have some idea.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“Show me. Show me how much.”

Tony kissed him, open-mouthed, hot, wet, tongue moving greedily, and Steve kissed him back with just as much passion, thrusting up against Tony’s knee.

“Steve,” Tony mumbled. “Stop. Just for a second.”

Steve obeyed, his eyes dark on Tony’s, his breath coming in short, even gasps.

Tony sat up, moving quickly, and unbuckled Steve’s belt. He bent over, kissed his stomach, as his fingers worked the button of his jeans open. “This is okay, right?” he asked, pulling the zipper down.

“Yes, god, yes, Tony. Hurry.”

“Lift ‘em up, soldier.”

Steve lifted his hips and Tony yanked his jeans off, pulling his underwear with them, then pulled his own sweats off and threw them away. They landed on top of Steve’s jeans with a soft thump. Coins clinked in the pocket. The sound made Tony smile.

Tony crawled on top of him, straddling him, a knee on either side, and rolled his hips. Their erections slid against each other, creating a delicious friction. Steve propped himself up on his elbows, and when Tony took them both in his hand, his head fell back, eyes closed, exposing the long, lovely line of his throat.

Tony could never resist that. Ever. He was a weak man and he knew it. He leaned forward, hand still working them together, and kissed Steve’s neck, licking it, sucking on it, marking it with bruises that would fade in minutes. But he’d know they’d been there. So would Steve. It was a secret between them. Just like Steve only marked him under his clothes where no one else could see. Just knowing they were there was enough.

“No new tricks, huh?” Steve panted, adding his own hips into the mix, rocking up against Tony.

“Oh, this is an old one,” Tony answered, his own breath short as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through him. “I just had to wait for you to get better before I could show it to you.” He stopped moving, concerned. “Wait, you _are_ better, right? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“Oh my god, Tony, I don’t even care. Just don’t stop.”

How many times had he thought of this? Their bodies moving together, sliding against each other in a smooth, synchronized rhythm, their breathing raw and harsh, hands exploring, mouths open, eyes closed? How many times had he imagined Steve writhing on a bed beneath him? Never this bed--that had been beyond his foresight--but some bed, somewhere. Tony’s name fell from Steve’s lips like an invocation. Steve’s came from his own in a Pagan chant. They mixed together to create something more holy than either ever could have achieved alone.

“Steve,” Tony whispered, “are you--?”

“Yeah. Yeah, but I can hold on. I can wait.”

“Just another minute.”

“Okay.”

Steve sat suddenly up, wrapping an arm around Tony. He kissed him while Tony’s hand moved between them. “Tony,” he said into his ear urgently. “Did you really love me? Before? Please. I-I need to know.”

“Steve,” he began, and then he was coming, the dam breaking, rapture enveloping him. Steve was there with him, his moan of fulfillment muffled as he sunk his teeth into Tony’s neck. And in that moment, Tony could deny him nothing. “God, yes, I loved you. Baby, I love you _now_ ,” he whispered, stroking his sweat-damp hair. “I’ll always love you. It’ll always be you and me. No matter what happens. I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.”

Steve shuddered in his arms, holding him tightly, his head buried in Tony’s neck. “Me too, Tony. Me too. Remember that, okay? Please?”

Even through his joyful haze, Tony heard the desperation in Steve’s tone, felt the unmistakable wetness of his tears against his skin.

“Steve? What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

Steve lay back and rubbed his arm across his eyes. “I am, though. Right now, I couldn’t be better.”

Tony looked at the red-rimmed eyes that were trying so hard to be brave, but still seemed so fragile. “What are you not telling me?”

Steve tugged Tony’s t-shirt and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Come here.”

“Let me get a towel or something first.”

“No. I don’t care. Come here.”

“Fine.”

Tony stripped his t-shirt over his head and cleaned them both up as best he could, then threw it on the floor. He lay back down and Steve rolled them so they were on their sides, Steve pressed up against Tony’s back, his arm around him, his face in the back of Tony’s neck.

They lay like that together for a while, breathing in each other’s scent and existing inside the heat they made together, the afterglow only marred by the fact that Tony was not technically free, and Steve was keeping something from him.

So, nothing, really.

Not in the face of the sweetness they shared between them The warmth, the soft barrier of love they had always been able to weave around themselves when they were together like this. Something that held the goodness in and banished everything else into some cold outer darkness where it would wait until they parted once more. 

Steve’s lips moved against the back of his neck, leaving small tender kisses there. Tony stroked his arm, running his fingers along the muscle, reached back and touched his hip, his thigh.

“I don’t want to go,” Steve whispered.

“Good. Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. It’s easy. Just don’t leave.”

Steve sighed, tightened his grip. “For a minute, maybe.”

“Forever.”

Tony was drowsy now, that elusive nymph, sleep, upon him again. Such a fickle thing, appearing and departing only at her whim. _Just like someone else I know,_ Tony thought, as he fell into her waiting arms. It was his last coherent thought, Steve’s arms and his soft mouth, the last tangible things he felt.

He slept for seven hours and awoke to the sunlight streaming through the window. The storm was over, but it was cold, so very, very cold.

“Steve?” he called, already knowing he was gone. Already knowing he was alone again.

He sat up, and a piece of paper on the dresser caught his eye. He reached for it.

Steve’s nearly unintelligible scrawl: _I meant everything. I always did._

That was all. He’d returned a letter, at last.

Tony read it over three times. Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the trash can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been rough, guys, but stick with me! The good thing about a roller coaster is that even though it goes down (way WAY down) it usually comes back up! See you in a couple days! I hope. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months at a glance: Tony

January:

This was better.

Well, maybe not _better_ , but still pretty good, and a hell of a lot easier. There were drinks--oh, a shit _ton_ of drinks--and sun, and sand, and Gina in a bikini that was really nothing more than a wisp of fabric barely covering the good parts.

So what if he couldn’t always get it up for her after a long day on the beach? He had his prescription. And on the nights when even that didn’t really help, he had the thought of blue, Irish eyes, of a finger hooked though his belt-loop, of a sun-warm deck and a face turned casually up for a kiss hello.

That usually did it, but the far away look in his eye made her angry. Hurt her feelings too, probably, and he hated himself for that. He was the one using her, after all. Sure, she’d come with him on this luxury Mexican vacation, but she paid for some of their meals, swiping the check from his hand and passing over her credit card to the waitress. _Like father, like daughter,_ Tony thought with zero attitude and a sickly respect for her. Because he was using her. The same thoughts he used to get hard for her at night were the reason he shouldn’t be here with her at all. They were what he was using her to _forget._ It wasn’t fair to her. Or him.

Fuck you, Steve Rogers.

\---

“What is _wrong_ with you, Tony?” 

Double handfuls of clothing flew past him, landing in her suitcase, open on the bed.

“Ever since Christmas, you’re like a completely different person.”

A souvenir t-shirt, yellow, thin, _tiny_ , landed in his lap. _Cabo San Lucas_ in pink over a painted sun-set. Ten bucks from a street-vendor. Tony had bought it for her, had sucked her nipples through it that night while thinking of Steve rocking up against his knee. Old dog, indeed.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said and twisted the t-shirt in his hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Was it meeting my parents?” she asked, flashing angry eyes at him. “Is that what this is about?”

 _Steve wrapped around him. “Did you really love me?”_ “Honestly? A little notice might have been nice.”

Her mouth dropped open. She blinked, incredulous. “Notice? You _asked_ me to bring them. It was _your_ idea!”

“I don’t remember that part, at all.” _Fuck you, Steve Roger. Fuck you, Steve Rogers, Fuck--_

“The night we had dinner with Rhodey and Carol, Tony,” she hissed. Her color was high, her hazel eyes flashed. Steve’s eyes were blue. They were like ice chips when he was mad. “You said I’d met most of your family and maybe you should meet mine. Remember?”

He shrugged. “Maybe…?”

Her hand was small, but hard and fast. It connected with his cheek with a flat clap. His head rocked to the side.

“Everybody warned me about you,” she said and snatched the t-shirt out of his hands. She tossed it into her suitcase. “They told me you were a cold-hearted bastard. But I didn’t believe them. You were so sweet when we first met. So funny.”

Her lip began to tremble and a bright sliver of self-hatred slipped into his heart.

“Gina,” he said, reaching for her. “Sweetheart, don’t. Don’t cry.”

She slapped his hand away and sniffed. “I’m not crying, you piece of shit. Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I swear to god if you say you’re sorry again, I will literally kill you.”

_Been there, sweetheart. Done that._

Fuck you, Steve Rogers.

“What do you want me to do, Gina?” he asked. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you.”

He nodded. The relief felt like poison. “Okay.”

She snapped her suitcase closed and grabbed the handles. It banged into Tony’s knee when she picked it up. He hoped she’d done it on purpose.

“I’ll call the jet for you. At least let me do that much.”

“Fine.” She turned back to him when she got to the door. “Sort yourself out, Tony,” she said bitterly. “You’re a mess.”

She slammed out the door and was gone.

Tony called Jerry and told him to meet Gina at the airport. Fly her home, back to Long Island where there would be no memory of Steve Rogers to mess with the next guy who came along.

He opened the mini-bar and took out a tiny bottle of tequila. _Fuck you, Steve Rogers._ He downed it and got out another one.

February:

It was easier to get drunk in Malibu. Or, more accurately, it was easier to _stay_ drunk in Malibu. Nobody else was there. No annoying, well-meaning friends dropping in. Yeah, they dropped in now. Since Gina’d left him in Cabo and he came back to New York sloppy drunk and had to have the cab driver and the doorman carry him up to the penthouse, they dropped in. The bastards.

Nat and Bruce were the most frequent. They lived in the city, and it was easiest for them. Peter lived here too, but he didn’t come much anymore. Tony had put a restriction on his access during one of his more lucid moments. The kid did _not_ need to see him like this.

He’d put a restriction on Pepper’s access too. Just in case. He’d once said that she had paid her dues when it came to him. That hadn’t changed. FRIDAY said she’d been by twice. No status change. She went away upset. But, at least she went away.

He didn’t bother changing Nat, Clint, or Bruce’s status. They could get in anyway. It would have just made a lot of extra work for everyone. He didn’t change Rhodey’s either. He had a code for FRIDAY that could lock even Tony out. There was literally no point. Thor had never had an access code in the first place. He came and went how and when he wanted. Tony secretly thought FRIDAY was a little afraid of him and just overrode everything when she saw him coming.

And speaking of people FRIDAY had too many feelings about considering she was a machine and shouldn’t have feelings in the first place…

He hadn’t been back. Not since Christmas night.

Fuck you, Steve Rogers.

He could have, too. That was the thing. _His_ code still worked too. He had full access to, not only the common areas of the Tower, but even Tony’s much more private ones. The lab, the garage, the control room, even the basement levels where he kept a lot of the personal things that had once belonged to Howard and Maria. Steve could get in anywhere in the Tower. All he had to do was use his code, say his name, let FRIDAY do her full-body scan thing that she did so well, and he was off. He was like Charlie Bucket in that old Willy Wonka movie. And that was funny in more ways than one. Little, pre-serum Steve had even _looked_ like Charlie Bucket.

Guess that made Tony the Candy Man.

But _this_ candy man was tired of visitors. Golden Ticket, or no.

So, he went back to Malibu. And started drinking in earnest. And nobody came to ask how he was. Nobody came to stop him.

Good.

Bunch of free-loaders, anyway.

Fuck you, Steve Rogers.

And fuck the rest of them, too.

Tony stood by the window and looked down on the beach. He wasn’t that high up here, but the entire wall was glass and the view of the water and the sand was breathtaking. If you liked that sort of thing. Tony was immune to its beauty. The vodka helped with that. It numbed everything. Every thought, every action, ever feeling. That was good. Who needed to feel anything, anyway? Feelings were for the weak. Stark men were made of iron.

So thinking, he took another drink.

He was three days past a week-long bender. Or so. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure anymore. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure about anything anymore. Except that it was easier to stay drunk here because no one came around. He was alone. And being alone here was better than being alone in the Tower for another reason too: Steve had never been here, so he couldn’t miss Steve while he was here. No, this place was completely and utterly Steve-free. No thoughts of him lounging by the pool. Or cooking in the kitchen. Or running on the beach. Or lying there on the couch, the sky ablaze in the window behind him, sunset painting his bare skin in alternating stripes of red and orange, his head thrown back, long lashes against his cheeks, whispering love-words while Tony lay between his thighs doing things to him that no one had ever been allowed to do before because Steve was _his_ , Steve belonged to _him_ in a way he would never belong to anyone--

Yeah, no thoughts of Steve at all, here in Malibu. It was Steve-free.

Fuck you, Steve Rogers.

“Boss?” FRIDAY said, her voice tentative.

Tony grunted. Took another drink.

“There’s something coming in from the Southeast quadrant.”

“Whatsit?” Only slurring a little. That was still okay.

“It’s--”

Then Tony saw it--a man-shaped bullet streaking across the sky. Red, white, and blue, back in the day. Tony was thrilled when they’d changed it. He hated the whole Americana aesthetic. 

“It’s Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Stark.” The tentativeness was gone. She was relieved. Purely, painfully relieved. “That’s nice, isn’t it?” she asked. “He’s here to see you.”

Tony went to the door, only spilling a drop or two on the floor as he lurched. He felt like a sailor on shore for the first time in months. He missed the knob twice, then found it and turned it.

Rhodey landed in front of him a moment later. Nothing flashy about that landing, not like Tony’s. His suit pulled itself away and turned into a carrying case. _A valise, if you please,_ Tony thought, and giggled.

“Hey, Megatron,” he said. “More than meets the eye, huh?” He giggled again. 

Rhodey shook his head, hands on his hips. “My god, Tony,” he said. “Get in the house.”

“Well, I’m happy to see you, too.”

Rhodey’s face twisted in sad disgust. “Go on. Get inside. You look like shit, and you smell worse. Thank god the paparazzi’s finally given up on you.”

Tony stood where he was. The bottle dangled from his hand. His robe flapped open in the breeze, and if the cool air around his privates meant anything, he wasn’t wearing any pants. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, you mad?” He stumbled a step toward Rhodey. His foot came down on the tie to his robe, and he tripped and fell.

Rhodey dashed forward and caught him. 

“Don’t be mad, Rhodey, okay? Please?” Tony babbled as Rhodey helped him inside, holding him up, holding him close in spite of the ripe smell of alcohol and sweat and sadness coming off him. 

“I’m not mad. Let’s just get inside.”

Tony paddled his feet, maybe even helping a little, as Rhodey maneuvered him back through the door. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” FRIDAY said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I was on clean-up duty after the hurricanes in Florida.”

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He tossed Tony onto the couch and took the bottle from his fingers.

“Hey,” Tony protested, making grabby-hands at the bottle. “That’s mine.”

“The fuck it is,” Rhodey answered, and took it over to the wet-bar. Tony groaned in pain as he poured it down the sink. He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and laid some bills on the counter. “See this?” he said. “I’m buying you out. Everything you’ve got here.” He gestured at the bottles still behind the bar. There weren’t many left. “It’s mine now. Got it? So, I don’t want to hear any bitching or moaning about how ‘you bought it’, ‘it’s yours’, ‘you paid for it’, because _I_ just paid for it. It’s mine, and you’re done, do you hear me?”

Tony pouted on the couch, face sullen.

“I said, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony muttered. His eyes shot dull, teenage-style daggers at his friend. 

“Good. Now let’s get you in the shower and into bed.”

“Fine.”

  
He slept most of the way around the clock. His head felt huge when he sat up. Huge and stuffed with wasps that buzzed and stung at will. He moaned. A drink would quiet them. It usually did.

He got out of bed, honestly not remembering how he’d gotten _in_ to bed in the first place, and made his slow, careful, old-man way into the living room where the bar was. There was a bottle of Wild Turkey in there, just a-calling his name. 

But there wasn’t. In fact, there were no bottles there, at all. There were, however, a handful of bills sitting anchored under an empty glass.

“What the hell?” he said.

“You think I was going to trust you with my booze? I don’t think so.”

“Rhodey?” he asked, blinking owlishly at him. The sun was still bright, unfiltered by anything but the hint of tinting on the window. “FRI, close the blinds.”

“No way. Don’t do it, FRIDAY. I want to see my boy in the sun.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and the blinds stayed stubbornly open.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He lifted his hands up and looked at them. He _looked_ like he was here, and whole, and corporeal.

“Don’t worry, Tony,” Rhodey said, slapping him on the back. “I used my override. I’ll give her back when you feel better.”

“I feel better now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“What I always do--taking care of you.” He shot him a look laced with concern and frustration. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? You and me?”

Tony flushed with shame. It had been pretty one-sided lately. He knew that. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

Rhodey flapped a hand at him and gave him a rueful smile. “Nah. I got nowhere else to be.”

Something flashed through his mind. A memory? Maybe he hadn’t hit rock-bottom, after all. He raised a hand to his temples and rubbed them, trying to coax it out. “Wait, didn’t you say something about hurricane clean-up?”

“Good for you, Stark. Still got something going on upstairs.”

“You don’t need to be there for that?”

Rhodey went to the kitchen and rumbled through the fridge. “Fury diverted a bunch of us down there. Sam went. Clint. Strange.”

“Strange? Isn’t it bad enough those poor people lost their homes and livelihoods? Now they’ve got to put up with that guy? What’s the world coming to?”

“He’s not that bad.”

Tony sat at the bar and lowered his head carefully into his hand. He thought a few of the wasps might have got to sleep. “He’s a tool.”

“He did a lot for--”

“Don’t,” Tony said sharply. “Please don’t.”

Rhodey shook his head. “I was going to say ‘for the world’, Tony. During Thanos. He did a lot.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Tony watched him crack eggs into a bowl and whisk them up. He put butter into a pan and dumped the eggs in. Rhodey’s hangover eggs. Served with Tabasco, hot coffee, and a smile. They’d eaten those a few hundred times over the years. It still smelled as good as ever.

“You saw Sam?” Tony asked as Rhodey started the coffee. “How is he? It’s been a few months since I saw him.”

“He’s good. He actually said to tell you hello. Said ‘Hang in there’.”

Tony smiled. _That guy…_ “Tell him hi back. And Clint.”

Rhodey plated the eggs, shook on the Tabasco, and brought the coffee.

“You know,” he said, taking a bite. “You could come tell them yourself. It might do you some good to get out. Damn, that tastes good. And those people would probably love to see Iron Man.”

Tony ate a little. He wanted to wolf them down--good? They were fucking _awesome_ \--but went slowly in deference to his still-queasy stomach. “I don’t know. It’s been awhile. I don’t think I’m quite ready to suit up again.”

Rhodey squeezed his shoulder. “Well, if you ever _are_ ready…”

A wave of gratitude crashed over him. He put his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “When are you going to give in and marry me, James? You know we belong together.”

He tapped his fork against the edge of his plate. “What’d we say? When we were eighty? If neither of us were married?”

“I’m pretty sure it was seventy.”

“I’m not giving in at seventy! I’ll still look good at seventy.”

Tony sighed. “Fine. Eighty, it is, but you’d still better look good.”

“I’ll look better then than you look now.”

“Fuck you, Rhodes,” he said, his heart breaking just a little. _“I love you” in code._

  
March:

“Are you sure you want to do this, boss?”

“No. But, I have to, FRI.”

He was standing in the control room. Back at the Tower. Malibu was a bust. A big, sodden, drunken bust. It was better here. For real, this time. There was an energy in New York that just made him feel more alive. It wasn’t as good as the cabin--as _home_ \--but he couldn’t go back there yet. 

He kept in touch with the guys--Jeff and Ray and Billy and some of the other locals, but he couldn’t go up there. It was too much. He knew he’d have to eventually, even if it was just to clear it out and mark everything for storage, but he couldn’t yet. It was still too raw, the wound still open.

But this, this he was doing now, maybe this was the first step in finally closing it.

“Initiate sequence.”

FRIDAY hesitated.

Tony closed his eyes. “Come on, FRI. Please, sweetie, work with me.”

“But what if he needs us?”

“He doesn’t.”

“We don’t know that, boss.”

“Yes, we do. If he needed us, he’d be here.”

Silence while she processed that. While she calculated a response. Tony waited. He owed her that much.   
  
“But, if we do this,” she said, her voice small, “how can he come back to us? How can he come home?”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been through all this in his mind a thousand times, and he always got hung up here, too. But, he had to push through. Play through the pain. Just do it. And all the other sporty metaphors that basically boiled down to “Stop caring so much and get the job done”. That’s what he was trying to do. Stop caring. Get the job done.

“We’re not his home anymore, FRI. Maybe we never were.”

“You’re wrong, boss,” she said. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, well, I _am_ the boss. So, we do what I say. Initiate sequence, please, FRIDAY.”

“Deactivation sequence initiated.”

“Rogers. Steven, Grant. Access Code 112-A.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Deactivation code: 4785F34U99.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Stark. Anthony, Edward. Access Code 111-A. Complete deactivation sequence.”

Silence.

“Complete deactivation sequence, please.”

“Deactivation sequence completed, Mr. Stark. Rogers. Steven, Grant. Access Code 112-A no longer functional.”

Tony slid down the wall until he sat pressed against it. He drew his knees up and clasped his arms around them. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I wonder if I could power down for a bit?” she asked.

He nodded without opening his eyes. She had never asked for that before. Never. “Of course, you can, FRI. Come back when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

“FRI? You _are_ coming back, right?”

“Of course, I am. It’s just the two of us now. We’ll need each other.”

Tears slipped out from under his lashes. He wiped them away. “Yeah. We will. Hey, FRI?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you, too, boss.”

April:

  
“You’re coming to the reception, aren’t you?”

They were having coffee. Just the two of them in a diner near her apartment. Tony dumped sugar into his cup and stirred. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Nat touched his wrist. “You should. You’ve been a hermit the last couple months. You need to see people.”

“I see people.”

“Bruce and I don’t count.”

“You’re the only ones who count.”

She smiled, her red lips curving in a way that always made him a little weak. “They’re honoring you,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Not interested. It’s my fault it happened in the first place. I should have stopped it. I tried. He was just too strong.”

“That was not your fault,” she flashed out. “Don’t you ever say that. You, and Carol, and Thor, and St-” she stopped, took a breath, and started again. “You saved us all. If not for you, half the universe would still be gone. If not for you…” she looked down at her hands, into the dark depths of the cup between them. When she met his eyes again, they were filled with steel. “If not for you, Steve would be dead.”

He looked away. “Nat. Please don’t. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You can because I need to say it, and you’re going to listen.”

“No.”

She gripped his wrist tightly. “Don’t ‘no’ me, Stark. I’ve been going to say this for a long time. It’s the anniversary tomorrow, so, no time like now, right?”

“Actually, now is the worst possible time, Nat.”

“Why?”

He put his head in his hand and looked up at her. “Tomorrow’s the anniversary.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“That makes today my anniversary. _Our_ anniversary.”

She exhaled and took his hand. “Oh, Tony.” 

He squeezed her hand and let it go. “I know how sappy it is.”

“It’s not sappy. It’s that ‘normal’ stuff we talked about before.” She gave him a stern look. It reminded him forcefully of the ones Rhodey sometimes gave him. “But, now I definitely need to say what I was going to say.”

“Nat-”  
  
“You saved his life,” she said flatly, and grasped his hand again. “I was going to let him die, and you saved him.” 

Tony tried to look away from her, but he couldn’t. She held him in thrall, and he could see how she thrived as an assassin for so long. Not only was she deadly and beautiful, but she had a mystical quality that hung in a haze around her. When she turned it on and focused it, she was irresistible. No wonder Steve adored her. No wonder Bruce was hers to command. Tony wondered how he, himself, had been able to resist her all these years.

“I know the two of you have had a rocky go of it, but do not sit there and act like you don’t think it was worth it. Even now, after all your shit. He owes you. _I_ owe you. You gave him back to us, Tony. Thank you.”

Tony fiddled with his spoon, then sighed. “ _He’s_ the one we owe, Nat. He’s the one who saved us all.”

“I thought that went without saying.”

“Maybe we haven’t said it enough.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Tony dropped his head down onto their clasped hands. She removed one--gently--and ran it through his hair. He let her pet him for a moment, reveling in the sheer comfort of it, then raised his head. He tried to smile. 

“We were really happy, Nat,” he said.

She came around the table and slid into his side of the booth. “I know,” she said, slipping her arm around him. He lay against her, taking in her warmth and fierce love. “I know, Tony.”

“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” he said glumly. “I mean, I guess I really only had him for a few months, but--”

Natasha laughed. Right out loud. The couple in the next booth looked at her, annoyed. They were wearing black arm-bands. People on a pilgrimage. There were a lot of them in town for the vigil and the reception.

“Sorry,” Tony told them. “She’s got issues.”

“This is no time for jokes,” the woman snapped. “Who do you think you are? Let’s get out of here.” She and her friend stood up and stomped out, leaving their food uneaten, their check unpaid. “You’re sick,” she sniffed as they passed Tony and Natasha’s table.

“Whoops,” Nat said.

“Yeah, that one’s on you.”

She nodded. “Fine. I’ll take the blame. Put that on our bill, will you?” she called to the waitress. 

“I definitely will,” she said, giving them a look. “That was real nice.”

Nat sighed heavily. “We should go.”

“Y’think?”

They--well, _Nat_ ; Tony didn’t even pretend to reach for the check--paid and they left. She laid down a fifty for the tip, hoping that would soothe at least some of the hurt feelings.

They walked hand-in-hand, making their way back to the apartment she shared with Bruce. They saw a lot of black arm-bands. A lot of flower-bedecked shrines. A lot of prayer circles. Most of the city was shut down. The food vendors, restaurants, and convenience stores stayed open--the bills still needed to be paid--but most everywhere else was closed. The Statue of Liberty, the 9/11 Memorial, and a lot of the other NYC sights had discounted their rates for the week. Wall Street was shut down. Broadway was dim. In Times Square, the huge screens played a continual list of names of the returned, and a list of the dead on a loop. Tony hadn’t seen Vision’s name on that one yet, although, he thought he’d seen Peter’s once on the list of the returned. At least, he assumed it was their Peter. There were a lot of Peter Parkers out there, though. Maybe he wasn’t the only one in Queens.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Natasha said, as they skirted around a group of prostrate worshippers.

“I am a lot. What’s it, this time?”

“That you only had him for a few months.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. You know he was in love with you for a long time.”

Tony sighed. “Okay,” he said, giving in. “I guess we’re talking about this. Yeah. Okay? I mean, I knew he’d liked me for a while. At least, he alluded to it a little. Sometimes.”

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh again. “No, he didn’t ‘like you for a while’, Tony. He was in love with you. For years.” She bumped his shoulder and repeated emphatically, “ _Years._ ”

“How many years?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

“Didn’t he ever tell you about the farm, and his nightmare, and...stuff?”

“No,” he said stiffly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh. Well, maybe you should ask him about it sometime.”

He shot her a look and a huff of breath. She pulled him onward. Bruce was making spaghetti for dinner, and homemade garlic bread. A siren-song if ever there was one.

“Do you hear from him?” Tony asked reluctantly.

Natasha stopped. Her building was right there. Their window on the sixth floor was open. Looking up, Tony saw the curtains belling gracefully out. The cat, an orange thing with a white bib, lay on the sill. It didn’t have a name. Nor, Nat insisted, did it actually live there. It just came and went. That seemed to be a family trait, too.

She took the lapels of his jacket in her hand and looked him squarely in the eye. “No,” she said. “I don’t hear from him, but I know where he is. If you want me to tell you--”

“No.”

“Tony, this isn’t the first time you’ve asked me that. I think--”

“No, Nat,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know. I _can’t_ know. I have to be done. Do you get that? Please tell me you get that.”

She stepped into him and kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, her eyes were far away. “Of course, I get that,” she said. “Sometimes you have to give up on a dream,” her eyes drifted up to the window. When they settled on it, they cleared. “Before you can find something real.”

She looked back at him and shook him a little by his jacket. “But _not always_ , Tony. Sometimes the dream _is_ the reality. You just don’t know it.”

“When’d you turn into a fortune cookie?”

She laughed, and again he wondered how he had ever been able to resist her. She was amazing. Immaculate. He didn’t know what he would have done if her name had ever appeared on that Times Square list of the dead.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Wisdom comes with age, I guess.”

“There you go again.”

She planted a firm kiss to his mouth. “Come on. We’re going to be late for Bruce.”

“We can’t have that,” he said, and they went up the stairs together.

May:

Tony stood behind the rows of folding chairs. Graduations sure hadn’t changed much over the years, he mused. School colors. School song. Boring speeches. Endless parade of kids pulling faces at their parents when they received their diploma. He’d had the same. Except the pulling faces part. That would have surely earned him the patented Howard Stark frown. No point in that, even though, at 17, he was always ripe for a fight with Howard. But, Maria was happy that day, smiling and proud, and even Howard wasn’t looking too anxious to disrupt her mood, so Tony just smiled and accepted his MIT diploma. He got shit-faced that night, however, and balled some guy from town in the back-seat of his Nova. He’d come down with a horrendous case of the clap. Welcome to the real world, baby.

He didn’t think Peter would do that, though. He was too good a kid. In fact, he was the kind of kid Tony always wished _he_ could have been. Smart. Funny. Sweet. Respectful. It’s probably a good thing he hadn’t met him until he was older. That way, Tony hadn’t had too much time to fuck him up with his bad influence. Peter already had the basic goodness instilled. Tony could just give him the good parts of himself. He thought he could do that now.

“Hey! Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!”

A bundle of blue polyester hit him squarely in the chest, all gangly, teenage octopus arms clinging to him. 

Tony hugged back, amused and proud. He let happiness burst in his chest for a moment, then pulled the kid off him and held him at arms’ length. 

“Hey! You came!”

Tony nodded. “‘Course, I did. You think I’d miss this?”

Peter grinned like a 10-year-old. In fact, he _looked_ like he was ten. A good, happy ten.

Tony grinned back. 

“Did you see me trip when I was going up the stairs? That wasn’t too embarrassing, right?”

“Nah,” Tony said. “It wasn’t too obvious. You didn’t fall on your face or anything.”

Peter laughed, then craned his neck, looking through the crowd. “Did Captain Rogers come with you? I thought he might.”

Tony tried to ignore the sudden lance of pain through his heart. Tried not to let it show on his face.

_Fuck you, Steve Rogers._

Ouch. He hadn’t thought _that_ in a while.

“No, he couldn’t make it, Pete,” he said. “He told me to tell you he was really proud of you, though.”

Peter looked crest-fallen for a moment, then shook it off, grinning again. _Oh, to be young again…_ “Oh. Okay. Tell him thanks for me when you talk to him, ‘kay? I don’t see him much anymore.”

_Me neither, kid. Fuck you, Steve Rogers._ “I’ll do that.”

Tony took an envelope out of his pocket and pressed it into Peter’s hand. “Don’t drop this, kid,” he admonished.

Peter opened it and looked inside. His eyes bulged comically. “Holy _shit_ , Mr. Stark!”

“Hey! Watch the language, young man.”

“Sorry, Aunt May.”

She gave him a mock-stern look, then ruffled his hair. She turned to Tony and kissed his cheek. “Glad you came, Tony.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Peter held the envelope out to his aunt. “Look.”

Tony frowned, suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly worried it was too much. There were a lot of zeros on that check.

May opened it and looked. “Holy shit.”

“Hey,” Peter laughed. “Watch your language.”

“Is it too much?” Tony asked apprehensively.

“No,” both Peter and May said together, and they all laughed.

“He’s got a free ride to NYU, but there’s always extras the scholarship won’t cover,” May said, squeezing Peter. “Thank you.”

Peter shook his head, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Yeah, sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said, and bounded into Tony's arms again. “Thanks. Really. I mean, wow. Really.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

“May? I’ve got the car--Tony?”

Tony disentangled himself from Peter again. “Happy? What the hell?”

“Um,” he said, and put an awkward arm around May’s waist. “I thought Pepper told you.”

“She said you were seeing ‘ _someone_ ’,” he said. “Flabbergasted” was not a word he used often, but it was certainly the one that seemed to fit this particular situation.

Happy looked a bit less than as he scanned Tony’s face nervously. “This isn’t a problem, is it, boss?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, then laughed. “Are you kidding? This is great.” He grabbed them both in an impulsive hug, and Peter jumped into the fray, wrapping his arms around them all.

It was a good moment. A good day. One of those ones you can keep in your back pocket to pull out and look at when times weren’t going so well. There’d just been that one little hiccup. Just the one. And he could put his thumb over that when looking at it, like you did over a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect photograph.

That was easy enough.

June:

June was quiet. Tony was glad.

  
July:

This is where he was still at his best. In the lab, machinery whirring, plans hanging in a holographic haze around his head like tangible smoke, lights brights, music loud, the scents of hot metal and electrical currents in the air. He could do all the rest of it--the human stuff--but this was always easiest. This was always home.

Tony sang along to the raspy voice coming through the speakers. AC/DC. One of his favorites. He was concentrating only on the work in front of him. Upgrades for Rhodey’s suit, and wasn’t _that_ a blast from the old past? Funny. Nothing ever changed, did it? Nope, not really.

He wasn’t an Avenger. He couldn’t bring himself to go that far. Without Captain America by his side, Iron Man could never be as good as he needed to be. Tony could admit that freely. It had nothing to do with the personal, feelings-y side of it. It was all about the strength, strategy, effectiveness-y side. Iron Man just wasn’t as good without Captain America. Straight talk only here, right?

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be a part of things. First and foremost, he was an engineer. He was brilliant. A, dare we say with absolutely no ego at all, genius, and that meant he still had something to give. So, he spoke to Ross who decided to give him consultant-status again. That allowed him to design and build again. That always made him feel good. Useful.

It wasn’t candy, but it was almost as sweet.

“Boss?” 

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Dr. Banner is requesting entrance.”

“Let him in, FRI. Thank you, angel.”

“You’re welcome.”

FRIDAY had come back on-line two hours after requesting to power down. In Tony’s estimation, that was probably like a two-year sabbatical in machine-years. They had been very gentle with each other since. Tony started keeping daisies on the kitchen table. Buying them the first time had hurt. Play through the pain.

“Will you turn the music down, FRI? To fifteen, please. I still want to hear it, but I guess we shouldn’t drown out poor Brucie-bear, should we? Especially since he looks like he’s a man on a mission.”

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hey. So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A man on a mission?”

Bruce looked at his feet. “No,” he said. “Of course not. I just came to see how you’re doing.”

Tony nodded and took his glasses off. He remembered a time when he had been able to do all the tiny, fiddly work without glasses. Apparently, those days were now gone. Eh. Sunrise, sunset. What are you gonna do?

“So, you drew the short straw, huh?” Tony said. He was smiling a little, wondering how this was going to go. In a way, he felt bad for Bruce. If socially-awkward had a poster-child, it would be him. But he was a good guy, sweet and innately kind, in spite of his big, green counterpart, and Tony tried to be gentle with him. He just wished teasing him wasn’t so much fun.

Bruce came over to the work bench. He picked up a piece of a thruster, tweaked a wire, then put it back down. “What are you working on?”

“Rhodey’s suit. Are you here to watch me?”

“Do you really need an audience to make a gauntlet?”

“I don’t _need_ one, but I don’t object to one either. Seriously, though, did they send you to watch me?”

Bruce shrugged, giving up all pretense, as slim as it may have been. “Pretty much. Are you mad?”

“No. They mean well.”

“So, you’re not going to do anything, right?” he pressed.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” he said. _Whined_ , actually, and if _that_ wasn’t the cutest thing Tony’d seen in awhile, he didn’t know what was. “They just told me to come over here and check up on you and make sure you were okay.”

“I’m peachy, Dr. Banner,” he said. “Fit as a fiddle. Fine as paint. Cunning as a cat a-running. Did I miss any?”

Bruce eyed him anxiously, and Tony shook his head.

“Hey,” he said, much quieter now. “I really am okay, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked. “I thought they were being silly worrying so much, but now…” He glanced around the room, looking at the twenty or so half-begun projects, the piles of schematics. The couch in the corner was covered in a tangle of blankets. It was the same old black leather couch. He’d had Jeff drive it up here on his Chevy flat-bed then treated him to a night on the town to say thanks. The coffee table in front of it, where he’d once sat to bandage a certain super-soldier’s knuckles, was littered with cans of Red Bull and empty coffee mugs. To his credit, there were a few banana peels and granola bar wrappers, too. He’d been trying harder lately. Mostly for FRIDAY’s sake.

“Now, I’m starting to worry a little, too,” Bruce said. He looked at the plans hovering around them, and used his own hands to expand the image. “This, Tony. This is beautiful work. But, it shouldn’t come at the expense of everything else.”

Tony looked at him, honestly puzzled. He smiled a little. “What else _is_ there, Bruce?” he asked.

“What?”

“My parents are dead. I was an only child. Jarvis, my _real_ Jarvis, is dead. ‘ JARVIS’ is dead. Vision, too. I drove Pepper away a dozen times, and I finally managed to make one stick. I have failed at every single relationship I’ve ever had.” Tony looked down at his hands. Those clever, brilliant hands. “A year ago today, the love of my life--the one I thought would last forever--tried to kill me, then slit his own throat while I stood there and watched. Then they carted him away to an asylum. Exactly like he told me they would do. The one thing that I promised him I would _never_ let happen.” He wiped his face with his hand in a weary gesture. “And I let it happen. And now he’s gone. And I deactivated his access code. And I cleared out his room. And I had Happy arrange all the storage stuff because I don’t want to know where it is. And when I sleep, I sleep alone. And when I go to the movies, I go alone. And when I order dinner, I eat it alone.” He shrugged, smiled again. “And that’s okay. It really is okay.”

Bruce stared at him, horrified. “You-You have us, Tony,” he stammered.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “I do. I know I do. But I don’t have _all_ of you. Not like I had with him. And I don’t expect to, and I _shouldn’t,_ because you guys don’t belong to me. You belong to each other. You belong to the _world_. But me and him...it was just us. You know? It was just us.”

“Tony, I--”

“But, look,” Tony said, overriding him. He went to a panel showing a long list of numbers, letters, and symbols, and used his thumb and middle finger to expand it. Tony took a pen from behind his ear and used it to point at the image. “Look at that. Know what that is?”

Bruce came over and looked, adjusting his glasses. He studied it for a long moment. “What is that?” he asked, squinting at it even more closely.

“A flaw in the design. That’s why Rhodey can only get up to Mach 5, and I could achieve Mach 8.”

“That’s why? That tiny bit of coding?”

“Well,” Tony drawled, sliding it away, then began sliding it all away, like a kid putting his toys away at night. “That’s the start of it, yeah. But then it goes into the mechanics, and the electrical. Not to mention Rhodey’s far less-developed sense of bad-assery compared to my own,” he said, and winked. “But here’s the cool thing: I can fix it. I can fix the code and the mechanics and the electrical, and all the rest of it. Except Rhodey. I can’t fix him. I’ve tried.”

“Couldn’t you just make him a new suit?”

Tony laughed. “Fuck yes, I could! But try telling Ross that. He starts blathering about budgets and profit and loss and blah, blah, blah.” He shook his head. “I tried telling him it would be more cost-effective in the long run to just do a new suit, but he doesn’t want to hear it, so here I am.”

Tony slid the last panel away, and plopped down on the couch. “And after I’m done with Rhodey, I’ve got Sam’s Redwing to look at, and stuff for Nat, and upgrades for Peter.” He looked up at Bruce, putting every ounce of Stark-charm into his smile. “Point is, Bruce, I’m good. I’m here. I’m working. I’m healthy...er, thanks to my angel, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, boss.”

“You guys don’t have to worry about me. Even today.”

Bruce looked at the floor, his hands on his hips. His brow was furrowed, his glasses sitting precariously on the tip of his nose. He looked lost in thought, almost as though he were debating with himself.

Tony let it happen, just watching him silently, respectfully. He never interrupted a man so obviously working through a problem. It was a professional courtesy. Plus, Bruce was adorable when he worked, and adorable-Bruce was always worth a look.

At last, Bruce looked up. He seemed decided.

“What’s up, Doc?” Tony asked.

He took his phone out of his pocket and pressed a couple of buttons. Tony watched him curiously, adorable-Bruce still in full-effect.

“Nat?” he said into his phone. “Yeah. No, he’s okay, but...Yes. Yes, I know, listen...I’m going to tell him. No...No, but I’m doing it...Okay.” He glanced at Tonny. “She’s on her way over. FRIDAY, will you bring her to the lab when she gets here?”

“Of course, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce went to one of Tony’s computers and started typing. He typed fast, staring hard at the keys, still worrying a problem in his mind. 

Tony got up and stood by his shoulder, watching Bruce’s fingers fly across the keys. “What are you doing? And what did you mean, you’re going to tell me? Tell me what?”

“Hang on.”

“Don’t tell me to--whoa, what’s with all the encryption? Are those firewalls? What are you hacking into?”

“Don’t worry,” Bruce muttered. “I know what I'm doing. I’ll reroute the ISP and corrupt enough of their files so even if they look, they’ll never know it came from here.”

“Gee, so very comforting.”

“Can you be quiet for just a--oh, here we go.” Bruce typed in a few more key-strokes, waited for it to process, then a few more. On the monitor in front of him, a split-screen of what looked like security camera footage appeared. Each screen showed a different tiny room. Each tiny room had four things in it--a cot, a toilet, a sink, and a person.

Tony put his glasses on and leaned closer. “What the hell is this, Bruce?” he said.

“Can’t you tell?”

The images weren’t static. The people in them moved. Some were pacing, one was doing an intense set of push-ups. While Tony watched, one turned the page of the book he was reading. Some were lying on the cots, either sleeping, or--probably anyway--daydreaming. Of murder, mayhem, or Mother, no one could tell.

“Is this live?” Tony asked, his mouth suddenly very, very dry.

“Yes.”

“Bruce?”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Why are you showing me this?”

Tony dreaded the answer. Because he already knew what it was. He’d seen those rooms before. Seen those cots set into the wall. There were no bars, just clear panels of vibranium-reinforced glass that was completely and utterly shatterproof. That had been Ross’ doing. After the Steve Rogers-led mass break-out and subsequent global man-hunt for a small band of rogues, Ross had replaced and reinforced all the security. If it had been formidable before Steve, after him, The Raft prison had become an impenetrable fortress that no one dared to try and breach.

Bruce reached out and gently touched one screen with his finger. The other sections disappeared and this one expanded to fill the monitor. Bruce touched it again and, with a measured flick of his finger, threw the image up into the air in front of them. 

“That’s why.”

“Oh my god,” Tony breathed.

“Boss?” FRIDAY said, “Are you seeing this?”

“Yes, angel,” he said, quietly.

It wasn’t in color, that now almost life-size image, but it didn’t need to be. Tony’s mind could add the gold streaks to the hair, the faintest pink tint to the creamy pale skin. Even the faded blue of that ratty old Yankees t-shirt he refused to give up. He was lying on his back, one hand behind his head, the other one on his stomach, and Tony thanked god his eyes were closed. If he’d had to imagine the exact color of those blue, Irish eyes, he thought he might go crazy. As it was, he still felt a little crazy.

_Climate-controlled and bullet proof. Just like the Mona Lisa._

A little a _lot_ crazy.

“What is he doing there?” Tony whispered. His fingers rose involuntarily, reaching out and hovering a fraction of an inch from that face, that cheek, that mouth. How many times _had_ he kissed that mouth? He should have been keeping track, recording every time he’d touched those lips, ran his fingers through that hair.

Behind him, Bruce’s voice: “Serving his time.”

Tony shook his head. Confusion and sick anger bubbled inside him. Confusion was winning out at the moment, but the anger was beginning to grow. He could feel it rising to dominance, and he was afraid--afraid of what he would say and do when it finally won out.

“ _What_ time?” he asked. “How does he have _time_?”

“Let’s wait for Nat.”

“No,” he said firmly. His voice was rising. He didn’t want that. Didn’t want to yell at poor, sweet, mostly innocent Bruce. But, he couldn’t help it. “ _You_ tell me. You showed me, now you tell me. Just like in kindergarten.”

Bruce sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know he’s there. I’m not even supposed to know that.”

“But Nat knows?”

He nodded. “She was at the hearing.”

“ _Hearing_?” Tony asked sharply. “ _What_ hearing? How did I not know about this? I mean, fuck what I said about not wanting to know about Steve Rogers, but _Captain America_ on trial would be the lead story on every site in the world!”

The image in front of them moved as Steve shifted in his sleep. His brow contracted, his head turned fretfully. His tongue came out and wet his lips, then slipped back inside his mouth. He hitched in a deep breath, then sighed it out again, and then he was still. But his face retained that pinched, worried look. It always did when this happened. Unless Tony took him in his arms and soothed it away with whispered words and kisses, it would stay for a while.

Tony stared at Steve’s face, at his body, even thinner than it had been when he’d seen him at Christmas, that old t-shirt hanging on him. Of course, they wouldn’t be feeding him right.

_Oh god, baby, I’m so sorry._

“How long has he been there?”

“Six months.”

Tony closed his eyes, put a shaking hand to his mouth and rubbed his lips. 

_I just wanted to feel that again before…_

“So, after Christmas?”

_Did you really love me? I need to know._

“Yes. The day after. They transported him on the 26th.”

_Me too, Tony. Remember that, okay? Please?_

“Fuck.”

_I don’t want to go._

I don’t want to go.

“Boss? Miss Romanov is here.”

“Let her in, FRI.”

She came into the lab, hard eyes softening as they took in Steve’s sleeping image. She’d know about the worried look, of course. She’d shared his bed far longer than Tony ever had.

“I had to tell him Nat,” Bruce said.

“It’s okay, Bruce,” she said, but her eyes were on Tony now. Questioning, defiant, ready to either comfort or fight, whichever he chose. She would either rise to the occasion or lower herself to it, her eyes said so.

Tony sighed, defeated. “I want to know.”

Natasha nodded. “Sit down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a few liberties with Peter's graduation and stuff. Oh well, I've been taking liberties since this whole thing started!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another six months: Steve

Last August:

Vague. Hazy. Indistinct.

“He tore through another set, doctor. We need something stronger.”

“Give him more thorazine. Strange has some special ones coming. They should be here within the hour.”

“More? He already has so much in his system.”

“He’s dangerous, Sarah. Give him more.”

“Yes, doctor.”

_Sarah?_

“Mmmm”

Cool hand. Blue eyes over him. Kind. Worried.

“Mmm?”

Sting of a needle. Drifting again. That cool, soft hand on his cheek.

“Mom?”

“Shh. Just rest, Captain, alright? Just rest.”

Nothing.

For a long time.

Nothing.

Last September:

“How are your wrists?”

Steve looked at them, then held them up for Doctor Strange to see. They’d stitched them just to be on the safe side. The sedatives they dumped into him every night slowed the serum down too. He still healed extraordinarily fast, but it wasn’t instantaneous. And he had bitten deeply. Down to the bone.

“Almost better,” he said. “They won’t scar.”

“That’s good.”

Steve smiled. Strange didn’t know it, but it was Tony’s favorite little half-smile. The one that made him fall more in love every day.

Steve didn’t know that either.

“Yeah. You’re not supposed to damage the packaging, right? Lessens the value. Peter told me that.”

“Do you think your value has been lessened?”

“I don’t think it was that high in the first place.”

“I know a lot of people who would disagree.”

“Oh yeah?”

Strange looked at him over steepled fingers. “Yes. Half the universe.”

“That wasn’t me,” Steve said, shaking his head. He slowly rolled his hands into fists, then opened them again, watching the veins in his forearms. “That was a different man. A _dead_ man.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Steve looked at him from under lowered lashes, smiling again. “Well, we don’t know each other that well.”

Strange raised an eyebrow and cocked his head slightly. With his steepled fingers…

Steve ducked his head, putting a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. A blush creeped out of the collar of his t-shirt, deep red against the white fabric.

“Captain Rogers?”

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and bit his lips to hold in the laughter. “It’s just something-- _Dude looks like a praying mantis_ \-- “Tony said. Forget it.”

“Would you like to tell me what it was?”

“No,” Steve said, letting the word out on a string of laughter. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Strange sighed, a funny, considering look on his face. Steve wondered if he could read minds and the blush got redder.

“Well, as long as it made you laugh, I’ll let you have your secret.”

Steve picked at the hem of his t-shirt. “He always made me laugh.”

“That’s where your taste and mine differ, Captain.”

“He is an _acquired_ taste. I didn’t like him much either, when we first met.”

“Mm,” Strange grunted, then leaned forward over the desk. “It’s none of my business,” he said, “and part of me is dreading the answer, but my professional curiosity is forcing me to ask.”

“What?”

“What is it about him? I look at the two of you, and I just don’t see it.”

Steve tapped the middle of his chest. There was a faraway look in his eyes, a peacefulness that only came into view when he talked about Stark. That’s why Strange kept asking. He hated asking. In his opinion, Stark was an arrogant prick, but Steve liked talking about him, and when he opened up about Stark, he would open up about everything else, too. Health issues, mental issues, whatever else. Strange grudgingly thanked Stark for that in his head. The douchebag.

“It’s his heart,” Steve said. “You don’t see it much at first, but the longer you know him, the bigger it gets. The _better_ it gets. And then everything else gets better, too.”

Strange nodded. “Glad to know he has a heart.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah. He’s got one.”

“Tell me how it’s going with the walker.”

“I’m still having trouble with my left leg. I’m doing all the exercises, but it doesn’t feel like it’s helping.”

Strange drew his notes out of his briefcase. “Let’s go over some things we can do to help that.”

Last October:

“How did you let this happen?” Ross raged. “I thought you told me you had this Rogers situation firmly in hand. Now I find out that not only did he try to murder Tony Stark--which I could understand, if not condone--but it happened almost _four months_ ago? In front of a civilian?”

“Thaddeus--”

“And he has been interred in a public hospital since then? Co-mingling with the general population?”

“Thaddeus--”

“Are you insane, Fury? Should we put you in a mental hospital, as well?”

“Thaddeus--”

“This is in direct violation of the Sokovia Accords, Nick! They state very plainly that if something like this occurs, the...person involved will be taken to The Raft where we can better assess and control the situation.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Thaddeus,” Fury said. His voice was loud but calm, his lone dark eye ablaze. He was not used to being overridden. “Captain Rogers never did sign the Accords.”

“I didn’t sign The Constitution either, Nick, but I still abide by it,” Ross flared back. 

“Secretary Ross,” Strange began, “Captain Rogers has been making exceptional strides here under the care--”

Ross wheeled on him. “I didn’t ask you a goddamn thing, Doctor,” he snapped. “Of course, that would be your stance. You didn’t sign the Accords, either.”

“Why would I sign something that stripped away so many of my rights? Rights that _The Constitution_ allowed me in the first place?”

“You know who _did_ sign the Accords?” Ross asked, his voice silky. “Tony Stark and Natasha Romanov.”

Fury and Strange exchanged a look.

“The very same people who, along with Wanda Maximoff, came here last night, damaged property, disrupted patients, destroyed security footage, and assaulted two people.”

“They didn’t assault anyone.”

“The Maximoff girl used her ‘powers’ to get inside their heads against their will. That’s assault.”

“Captain Rogers had nothing to do with that,” Strange shot back. “In fact, he’s the one who reported it.”

“Yes,” Ross said smoothly. “Once again, he proves his loyalty is astounding.”

“His loyalty to the ideals this country was founded on is unimpeachable.”

“‘Truth, justice, and the American way’, Fury? Don’t throw taglines in my face and call them ideals.”

Even though the three men in this small doctor’s office were talking all around him, and _about_ him, Steve didn’t think any of them even remembered he was still in the room. He sat silently, his hands bound by vibranium cuffs, as per Ross’ request, looking down at his lap. A passerby might have assumed he had passed into a fugue state by the glassy-eyed, lax look on his face, but in fact, he was listening intently. His mind, as brilliant in its own way as Tony’s, was gathering every word said and quickly and efficiently sorting them, weighing them, interpreting them. He sat by and let it happen. It was actually more akin to instinct than higher thought, what was going on in his brain, and soon, very soon, he would know when to speak.

The sound of his friends’ names on Ross’ lips had almost derailed the process. If any of the men had looked at him when Tony’s name was said, they would have seen a hurricane of emotion cross his features. Sorrow, regret, longing, love. That last most of all. 

Tony didn’t understand. Had stomped out of the room leaving Steve alone again, badly hurt, nearly broken. Steve didn’t blame him. Perhaps in Tony’s shoes, he would have done the same thing, but what Tony couldn’t see was that Steve was doing this _for_ him. He had wanted so much to tell Wanda yes, do it, fix me, but he couldn’t. Because that wasn’t the right way. That was the cheap way, the easy way, the slap-a-band-aid-on-a-massive-head-wound way, and he couldn’t do that.

Because Tony hadn’t.

He’d been going to therapy for years, he’d said. Twice a week, he’d said. He had the courage and strength to lay himself bare time and time again and still come home happy and smiling. It took a bravery Steve deeply admired, and the very thought that it was Tony doing it-- _his_ Tony--filled his heart with pride.

How could he possibly do anything less for Tony?

Because he wanted that, too. He wanted Tony to feel the same pride he felt. He wanted to prove that Tony had done the right thing when he chose him, and if he’d done it Wanda’s way, it would not have been true.

So, as much as it stung, he said no. And Tony had left. And his parting words had been worse than the razor sliding across his throat. He could only hope that someday Tony would understand why he’d done it.

But, saying no had thrown him off balance, so when Dr. Greene, his psychiatrist, had come in, he’d requested to see him and patiently explained what happened. Strange had been wrong. He hadn’t “reported” his friends--he’d went to his session. He’d assumed his words would fall under doctor-patient privilege, but apparently, Dr. Greene had not felt the same. And now, here was Thaddeus Ross standing in Dr. Greene’s office screaming at Stephen Strange and Nick Fury. And it all boiled down to the Accords. Again. And his hatred of Steve Rogers. Again. And his desire to see him pay for what he’d done so long ago.

And that was it.

Steve knew what he needed to do.

He looked up. “I’ll go,” he said plainly.

At first, none of the others heard him. They were still trying to figure out who’s dick was bigger. That’s what Tony would have said, anyway. It was probably true.

“Ross!” he shouted over them, and this time, they all turned.

“Don’t you yell at me, Rogers,” Ross said crossly, but something flickered behind his eyes at the sight of the steel in Steve’s own.

Steve pitched his voice lower, but kept staring, his blazing eyes locked on Ross’. “I said I’ll go,” he repeated. “To The Raft. I’ll go.”

Strange stepped toward him. “Captain, no. You can’t. You’re right in the middle of your treatment. You can’t leave.”

“Oh, yes he can,” Ross said. Victory was writ large on his face. The White Whale, at last. “Fury, arrange for transport immediately, please.”

“I will not.”

Steve’s eyes never left Ross’. “It’s okay, Nick. I’m fine.”

“Steve, you can’t.” Strange.

“I said, I won’t.” Fury.

“You heard him, Nick,” Ross said. “He’s fine. He’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

“I’m glad you think so, Ross,” Steve countered. “‘Cause I’m not doing it for free.”

“You are in no position to make deals, Rogers.”

Steve looked at Nick and Strange. They were powerful men. Arguably, two of the most powerful men in the world--maybe in the galaxy--and they were on his side. He shrugged, turning back to Ross. “I don’t know,” he said. “It kinda feels like I might be.”

Ross glanced at the other two men just as Steve had done. The sick twist of his lips said he had come to the same conclusion.

Fury put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You know I’ll back him, Thaddeus,” he said, and inwardly, Steve sagged with relief. His posture, however, remained upright, square, strong.

“What about you?” Ross asked Strange.

“Captain Rogers is my patient. I’m always on their side.”

Ross stared at the three of them angrily. “This is insubordination. It may even be treason.”

“Why don’t you just hear him out, Thaddeus? He already said he’d go.”

“But what does he want in return?”

Steve raised his hands. The shackles around them jangled. “Right now, I want these off. Then we can talk about the rest.”

Last November:

It wasn’t a hearing, not really. It was really just a meeting. Steve had already agreed to go, this was just a way to make it official. Although, that was actually a misnomer, because it wasn’t official, at all. His was to be an off-the-books imprisonment. One that only Ross, Fury, Strange, and two guards would know about.

And Natasha.

That had been one of Steve’s conditions. He loved Fury and he respected Strange a lot, but Natasha was who he trusted most when it came right down to it. At least, out of the people he would allow to know about this. That did not include Bucky. Or Sam. Or Wanda. And especially not Tony.

But someone in the family needed to know where he was. Why he was gone for so long with no word. Someone needed to know in case Ross decided to take this matter into his own hands and do something more extreme than mere imprisonment. Steve didn’t think it would come to that. He thought Ross liked the idea of Captain America in his pet prison just a little too much to want to end it early. Steve could hear the phantom-Tony who sometimes spoke in his head say, _Probably jerks off to the thought of it, baby._

He probably did.

But Steve hadn’t really needed that particular image in his head. Especially sitting here in this room with him. Especially since good, old “Thunderbolt” kept giving him decidedly wolfish looks across the polished table, obviously thrilled to be here, his eyes saying, “I own you, Rogers” as plain as day.

Steve looked away, looked at Natasha by his side, and felt her hand creep into his under the table. He squeezed it. 

_I don’t want you to do this_ , her eyes said.

_I don’t have a choice,_ his returned.

_Yes, you do, honey. Let’s leave. We can just leave._

_No, Nat. Not again. No more running._

_Fine. I hate this, but fine...and make him pay out the ass, Steve. He deserves it. And so do you._

Steve winked, tiny and secret, and she smiled back.

“Here are the terms of your imprisonment, _Captain_ Rogers,” Ross began, straightening the little sheaf of papers in front of him. “You will be confined to your cell 24 hours a day, six days a week. Once a week, you will be released from your cell for one hour. You may spend it in the open-air area of the prison. Once a month, as per Nick Fury's _request_ , you will spend an hour with Doctor Strange so he can assess your physical and mental health. These visits will be heavily guarded and supervised.”

“Guess you boys had better stick to hand-holding, then,” Nat quipped. “Unless you like being watched. Then, have at it, right, Thunderbolt?”

Steve bit the insides of his cheeks at the angry flush that colored Ross’ face. 

“If you speak up again, Miss Romanov, you will be asked to leave,” he said.

“But it won’t be enforced,” Fury countered. “Because Captain Rogers asked for her presence, and I am inclined to agree with him on this.”

“Then keep her under control, Nick.”

“She’s not a rabid dog.”

“No, that would be Rogers.”

“I accept,” Steve said, raising his voice. “Those terms are fine.”

“Are you sure, Steve?” Strange said. 

“I’ll be okay. I can handle it.”

Ross flipped a page in his folder. “As you know, The Raft is designed to house the most dangerous criminals in the world. While I have no doubt you’d fit right in with them, you will be kept in isolation for the duration of your imprisonment. You will be kept in an area that is separate and secure.” Ross looked up from his papers, his eyes alight. “Only one other man has ever stayed in that cell, Rogers. It’s practically factory-sealed. Just for you.”

“Who was the other man?” Steve asked, and Ross smiled cruelly.

“I am so glad you asked,” he said. And he looked it. In fact, he looked like Christmas had come early and Santa had been very generous. He leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands on the table-top. “It was Helmut Zemo,” he said. “Your old friend.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, the muscle working. Distantly, he felt Natasha’s fingers digging into his knee, trying to ground him, trying to hold him back. _I can see a bit of green in the blue of your eyes._ Steve’s own fingers gripped the edge of the table. The wood groaned in his fists. 

Ross smiled.

Fury put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

_He’s my friend._

“Steve.” Natasha.

“Rogers.” Fury.

_Cold. Snow. The shield raised high. Tony’s face, his eyes._ Scared.

His breath in and out in tight, measured gasps. Nat’s hand on him, soothing him. Fury’s tight and commanding. _Come back, Steve._ Plain as day. _Come back._

He tried.

He fought his way back from the cold, from that lonely, dark bunker where he and Tony--his friend, his _enemy_ \--had nearly died. Where Steve had nearly killed him. The first time.  
  
_So was I._

Steve struggled back to the present, but those words followed him. They’d followed him for years. They always would.

Helmut Zemo.

Steve hitched in a breath, let it out shakily. 

“And that’s why you _deserve_ to be in prison,” Ross said silkily. “One little thing. Two words. And you’re gone. The hero is gone. And what’s left? An experiment gone wrong. A monster.”

“That is just about enough, Thaddeus,” Fury said, standing. “This meeting is over. Steve Rogers will never set foot inside that prison, I guarantee you. I will fight you on this until one of us is dead, but Steve will never--”

“Nick.”

It was soft, but emphatic, and Fury stopped in mid-rant to look at him.

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “I’ll be okay. I’m still going.”

“Honey, Nick’s right--”

“No. I’m doing this.”

Fury dropped his hand and walked away, his back turned. Strange stood and joined him. They whispered to each other tensely.

Natasha stayed with him. “Don’t do this, Steve,” she said, and her eyes drifted to Ross sitting smug and righteous across the table. “He’s a sadist. He’ll do everything he can to break you.”

Steve looked at his hands. _So was I._ “I know.”

“He knows I’m right, Miss Romanov,” Ross said. “I’ll give him that. He _is_ aware of what he is.”

“He saved the universe, Ross. He _died_ saving it. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“They say Hitler was a dedicated soldier who loved children and animals. Is that enough for _you_ , Miss Romanov?”

Steve bit his lip, but said nothing. He was being torn apart from the inside out. Hitler? God, was that what he was in the eyes of this man? The idea made him sick with rage and fear. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to be in a cage with this man as his jailor. But he thought of Tony. Of Natasha. Of everything.

He could do this. He could do this all day.

Nick and Strange came back to the table. Ross kept his eye on Steve for another long moment, waiting for him to crack, then looked at Fury.

“Three months,” Nick said. “He goes in January first, he’s out April first.”

Ross laughed politely. “I was thinking five years.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Strange retorted.

“Is it? He tried to kill someone. The average sentence for second-degree attempted murder is ten to fifteen. I thought I was being very generous.”

“He shouldn’t be going at all,” Nick said. “Let’s take this to a judge. In court--”

“No.”

Fury sighed angrily. “You need to stop interrupting me when I’m trying to help you, Rogers.”

Steve looked up at him with raw, red eyes. “I don’t want to go to court, Nick,” he whispered. “Please don’t make me do that.”

Fury’s blazing eye softened. Just a little, and he put a hand on the back of Steve’s neck. Steve smiled his half-smile. Fury turned back to Ross.

“One year. In isolation. Nobody knows but us.”

“He never puts on that suit again,” Ross said. “And the shield becomes government property.”

“That shield belongs to Tony,” Steve said quietly. “His father made it. It was never mine. I just borrowed it.”

Fury’s hand squeezed his neck. Steve closed his eyes to stop the tears that suddenly threatened. He didn’t remember his father’s touch. He hoped it had been like Nick Fury’s was right now. 

“Fine,” Ross said, “but you never ‘borrow’ it again, Rogers. You’re done. Agreed?”

“Clean slates for every Avenger, right?” Steve said.

Ross nodded.

“And I don’t just mean in America. I mean you get with every country, every continent, every _everywhere_ and clear them. Of anything. Of everything.”

“Yes.”

“And if there are any fringe groups still looking for Clint Barton, you’ll take care of them. I know there were still a few that were upset with him after what he did during Thanos.”

“Ross and I talked about that, honey,” Nat assured him. “I’m heading that up personally.”

Steve nodded. “And you leave James Buchanan Barnes alone. Just forget he exists.”

“Unless and until he does something that warrants my attention,” Ross said, “he’s no longer my concern.”

“And stay away from Tony Stark.”

Ross stood up. “Captain Rogers, nothing would please me more.”

Steve got to his feet, and the two men stared at each other over the table. “When?” Steve asked.

“I’ll be generous and give you one more Christmas,” Ross answered. “How does December 26th sound?”

Steve nodded. He’d like to see Christmas in New York again. It would be a warm memory to take with him. “Agreed.”

“We’ll depart from the Compound at seven a.m. Sharp.”

“Alright.”

Ross held his hand out over the table. 

Steve hesitated only a moment before taking it. December 26th. They shook.

Last December:

Steve held onto him long after he’d fallen asleep. Sometimes his lips would stray over his skin in soft kisses. A few times, he spoke, saying, “I’m sorry, Tony.” “Please understand, Tony.” “I love you, Tony.”

_I love you._

He hadn’t said it enough when they’d been together. He knew that. He _had_ said it, but not every day. Not every hour. Not with every waking breath so Tony might have _some_ idea of how much he felt for him. So he might know the lengths he would go to to make him happy.

He hadn’t _done_ enough, either.

And now he’d never get the chance. 

Steve kissed his shoulder, relishing the heat of Tony’s skin under his lips. He licked the same spot, tasting him, burning it into his memory, then kissed him there again. He had no right to do it. He knew that. Tony was no longer his. He had a young, pretty girlfriend. He had a life that did not include Steve Rogers anymore. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop his traitorous hands from caressing his stomach, from settling on the cool, blue glow of the reactor. Couldn’t stop his mouth from travelling over his skin. Couldn’t stop his heart from beating out the rhythm of Tony’s name just as it had for years and years. As it would continue to do for the rest of his life.

“I love you so much. I never wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

At four a.m., Steve slipped out of the bed. Tony stirred, then was still again. Steve limped into the bathroom, the clothing Tony had helped him shed held in his arms. He turned the shower on and washed his hair, washed his hands, washed the residue of their release off his stomach, then just stood under that familiar spray. He’d stood in here a thousand times while he’d lived here. Once, twice, sometimes, when he was sad, up to five times a day, just standing there with the lights off, letting the warm wetness wash over him. It was safe in here. Calming. At the time, it had been the safest place in the world.

Now, the safest place was in that bed, enclosed within the circle of Tony’s arms.

But, that was over now. Even when he came back from prison, he could never let himself come here again. Tony deserved more. Better.

He drew his clothes back on in the gloom and limped out the door. His cane was leaning next to the bed. He reached for it, then opened the third drawer instead. There was paper in there, sharpened pencils. He’d always kept them next to the bed.

He couldn’t write “I love you”. He wanted to, but he had no illusions about what would happen to this note, and he couldn’t stand to think of those words being balled up like so much trash.

_I meant everything,_ he wrote instead. _I always did._

He left it on the dresser, took his cane, and left the room without looking back.

“Captain?”

Steve kept walking, found his coat, and slipped into it. His eyes felt too big, too dry, too hot.

“Captain Rogers?”

“What is it, FRIDAY?” he relented.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to leave.”

“No, you don’t.”

Steve pushed the elevator button. It opened and he stepped inside. “L” for Lobby. It was blue, that button. He pushed it.

“Captain?”

“I’m sorry, FRI. Really.”

“You need to stay. Mr. Stark needs you. We all need you.”

He brushed sudden tears away. “I can’t.”

“Please don’t leave.”

“Tony’ll be okay. He always is. And he’s got his girl now. She’ll help him.”

“She doesn’t know how to make his coffee, Captain,” FRIDAY said. “She doesn’t go check on him in the lab. Or fold his t-shirts with the design facing up so he can find his favorites easier. Or help him catalogue his DVDs by genre, sub-genre, and body-count.”

Steve smiled a little. That had been a good day.

“Tony said she’s nice.”

“She is. But she can’t take care of him. She’s not strong enough.”

“You can help her.” He glanced up, his tears still falling. “Will you please help her?”

FRIDAY’s voice was stiff, a bit angry when she spoke. “I tried. She doesn’t want my help.” Pause. “She doesn’t like me.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean, she doesn’t like you?”

“She calls me ‘the voice’.”

Anger flared in his chest. “Does Tony know this? I can’t imagine him letting that happen.”

“She doesn’t talk to me, so I try not to speak when she’s here.”

Steve’s hands balled into fists, the right gripping the handle of the cane until the knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry, FRI,” he said.

“You always talk to me, Captain.”

“Are you kidding? I’m crazy about you.”

“Stay here. Stay with us. We need you.”

“I wish I could. I do. But, I have somewhere I have to be.” He wiped his eyes and took a breath. “But I’m going to talk to Nat. Have her figure out this thing with the girl. I’ll have Nat fix it.”

“ _You_ figure it out, Captain. _You_ fix it.”

“I can’t,” he whispered. “But, I’m gonna miss you. Both of you. Don’t forget me, okay?”

She was silent. Steve nodded.

A moment later, the door opened on the lobby level. No one was down here now except the doorman snoozing away in his chair. Steve touched the wall of the elevator. He knew it wasn’t her, and even if it was, she wouldn’t feel it, but he had to touch something.

“Take care, Miss FRIDAY.” He waited, then started out the door.

“Come back to us,” she said.

He wiped his eyes again. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

The doorman didn’t stir as Steve left the building and went out into the bitter night air. He stepped outside and breathed it in. Smog. Smoke. Snow. Lingering fragrance of exhaust. The warm scent of yeast from the bakery down the street. New York. It was all New York.

He’d “borrowed” a car from the Compound, taking the keys and driving away. He slid into it now and seated the key in the ignition.

One year.

One year in prison. One year alone. One year without seeing anyone he loved. One year with only Thaddeus Ross and two guards for company. At least he’d have Doctor Strange once a month.

He took his phone out, texted Nat. _Keep an eye on Tony’s girl_ , he wrote. _Don’t let her mistreat FRIDAY. I’ve heard things. If it keeps up, tell Tony. Please._

\-- **What did you hear?**

\-- _I heard enough. Will you please handle this? I know I can trust you._

\-- **Where are you?**

\-- _On my way to the Compound. Please, Nat? I know how it sounds, but, please?_

\-- **I’m on it.**

\-- _Thanks. I love you. See you in a year._

He turned his phone off after that. He couldn’t stand to see her response.

One year.

365 days.

52 weeks.

12 months.

He could do it. He’d done seventy years before. How bad could one be?

He started to whistle as he drove. “Gangsta’s Paradise”.

He really _did_ love that song.

July (continued):

“You should have told me.”

“You didn’t want to hear.”

“I didn’t want to hear that he was in Tahiti with some model from Italian VOGUE, Nat! I wanted to hear this.”

“Tahiti, Tony? Really? This is Steve we’re talking about, not Ben Affleck.”

Tony sighed miserably. “We talked about it once. Going to Tahiti.”

She cocked an eyebrow, her arms folded over her chest. “What did he say?”

“He said he’d go anywhere with me.”

She let out a breath and shook her head. “Of course he did. What else would he say?”

Tony looked at the image of Steve sleeping on his bunk. That worried look was still on his face, and it was driving Tony to distraction. He wanted to touch those lines and soothe them away, kiss those parted lips until he slept soundly again. “I’ll tell you what he wouldn’t say,” Tony said. “He _wouldn’t_ say ‘Hey, Tony, I’m going to prison tomorrow. See ya later’.” Tony shook his head. “Nope. He definitely wouldn’t say that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “Tomorrow. He was here that night. And he didn’t say one. Fucking. Word.”

“Are you really surprised?”

“No.”

Tony went back to the couch and sat down heavily. “Bruce? Will you get rid of that, please?”

Bruce swiped it away, then typed on the keyboard. The other images from the prison disappeared, as well.

“Thanks.”

“Sure, Tony.”

Tony gnawed on his thumbnail. It was ragged and brutally short now. Steve’s were the same. They had picked up each other’s little habits and passed them back and forth like a virus between them. They had actually been doing it for years. He’d noticed it before, after Siberia, but had buried it deep in the bottom of his mind, covered it over with anger and resentment. He wouldn’t do that this time. This time, he _wanted_ to miss him.

Tony glanced at Nat and Bruce. He had gone to her side, and she held his hand, their fingers twined together. Steve had liked to do that, too.

“We need to get him out of there,” Tony said.

Natasha shook her head. “No. We don’t.”

“Yes. We do.”

“Tony,” she said patiently. “This is one of the reasons why he didn’t want to tell you he was going. Don’t you get that?”

“Why? Because I want him out of there? That makes me a bad person?”

Natasha released Bruce and sat next to Tony. “It doesn’t make you bad. But it kind of makes you selfish.”

“ _Selfish?_ ”

She nodded. “Yes. Selfish. As in, you’re thinking only about yourself. As in, you’re not taking into account the fact that he _chose_ to be there.”

“Nobody _chooses_ prison, Nat.”

“They do if they’re tired,” she said. “If they don’t want to run anymore. If they want to just get it over and done with once and for all so they can...settle down somewhere. When they get out. Maybe put some roots down.”

Tony looked at her, his brows drawn together. “Is that why he’s doing it?”

“I think that’s part of it, yeah.”

“What’s the other part?”

She looked at him with eyes that shone with guilt. “You know why.”

Tony closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “The Accords,” he said. “The fucking Accords.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not going to defend it,” he said weakly. “They were necessary. I believed in them. People had died.”

She took his hand, and Bruce sat on the arm of the couch beside her.. “I know. I believed in them, too. It wasn’t the wrong decision, Tony. Just, maybe not the right...framework.”

“Yeah. I knew it when I signed. I just thought I’d have time to figure it out. Fix it before it became an issue.” 

“I know.”

“There’s never enough time.”

She sighed and squeezed his hand. “I know.”

“How much time does _he_ have left?”

“Six months.”

Six months.

They sat silently together, the three of them, for awhile. Nat put her cheek against Bruce’s knee, taking comfort in his touch. Tony watched and his mind cast back to the times he had done the same with Steve. Touching just to touch. Feeling just to feel. Everything had felt right when they were together. Like everything was just as it should be. He wondered if it could be that way again. What it would take. If Steve would be willing to put those roots down in the soil next to Tony’s. If they could still grow something together.

“FRI?” he said.

“Yes, boss?”

“I think we should reactivate Captain Rogers’ access code.”

“Do you, Mr. Stark? Do you, really?”

“Do you agree?”

Undeniable relief. Undeniable happiness. “Yes, boss. I agree completely.”

"Let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end, guys, but there's still a little ways to go. Thanks for sticking with me through the ups and downs!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes home

It was calm, but bitterly cold when the jet touched down outside The Raft. 

Tony looked out the window. The hatch leading down into the prison was still closed. It was closed 99% of the time. Not much use opening it when you were surrounded by hundreds of miles of water in every direction. Not even Steve could swim that far. At least not in these temperatures.

He looked at his watch. 12:58.

_One o’clock, Stark,_ Fury had said. _You be on time or I will personally hunt you down and tear you apart. He doesn’t spend one second longer there than he needs to._

Tony agreed. He was on time.

“Be ready to leave as soon as we get back inside, ‘kay, Jerry?” he told the pilot. “I’ll wait for him out there.”

“Sure thing.”

He walked down the jet’s short stairway and leaned against it. The sun blared down, but it contained very little warmth, just a hard glow like a megawatt spotlight. It reflected off the blue of the ocean, kicking sunbursts back into his eyes. He put his sunglasses on. He hadn’t slept last night. Had only tossed and turned, anxious, nervous, _afraid_ of this, afraid Steve wouldn’t want to see him. Afraid of what he’d say. Or not say.

He looked at his watch again.

1:02.

_Where was he?_

At 1:05, Tony started to pace. At 1:08, his thumbnail a bloody ruin, he started to get his phone out of his pocket, ready to call Fury, call Ross, call _someone_ and rip into them about the extra minutes Steve was in there, and how he should be paid cash money for every second they kept him in there.

Then the hatch opened.

Tony shoved the phone back into his pocket as Steve climbed out. 

He closed his eyes at the harsh glare of the sun, and raised his hand to protect them further.

One hour a week? Tony thought darkly, wishing Ross would roast in hell as he watched Steve-- _Steve, oh my god, Steve_ \--rub his temples with his fingers, slowly trying to let his eyes adjust to the change in the light.

He hadn’t seen him yet, Tony was sure, and he used the opportunity to look him over while his eyes were closed. He was thinner. Even through the old leather jacket-- _a jacket, Ross? Fuck off, it’s ten degrees out, you couldn’t have given him a_ coat?--Tony could see he’d probably lost another ten pounds since he’d seen him a year and a half ago. As Captain America, he’d been 6’2”, a solid, beautiful 200 pounds, but Steve Rogers, while it didn’t look like he’d lost any height, seemed as skinny as a stuffed string at 165. _Really, Ross?_ He railed in his head. _Fucking really?!_

Steve was paler too. His face held the pallor of someone who had been locked under the ocean for a year, only able to see the sky for an hour a week. His hair had lost some of its golden luster. It was darker now, dull.

Tony’s heart broke to see the changes in him, but then Steve lowered his hand, wincing, and cracked his lids, and it was mended again. The eyes were the same. Those big, blue, oceanic eyes hadn’t changed at all. They found Tony’s unerringly, and they looked at each other across the tarmac, across the months. Tony saw uncertainty in them, pain, fear, and a spark of something else. Something that might have been hope.

  
“Hey soldier,” he said lightly. “Going my way?”

Steve was carrying a ruck-sack. Something ancient, dull, made out of army-grade canvas. It looked perfectly at home in his hands, as if he’d carried it forever and ever. Maybe he had. Maybe it had made the rounds of the globe with him when he’d been on the run. He hoisted it over his shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Tony shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet.”

Steve glanced back at the hatch. Tony frowned a little, then deliberately, and quickly schooled his features into something more friendly. _No fair getting upset, Stark,_ he told himself. _You’re the one not playing by the rules here. You’ve got to let him catch up._

“You need a ride?”

Steve looked back at him, not meeting his eyes. “Nick’s coming.”

“Well,” Tony began, “actually, he’s not. I asked him if I could come instead.”

“What’d you do that for?”

Tony stepped closer, not getting into his personal bubble, but edging around it. God, how he wanted to touch him. Stroke that pale, gaunt cheek, slide his arms around that too-thin waist. He resisted. His own synapses were firing like a machine gun, who knew what Steve’s were doing. He did know he hadn’t looked at him yet, not after that initial gaze. Hadn’t looked at him, stood with his shoulders hunched, shivering inside his jacket, and holding that damn ruck-sack like it was a security blanket.

Protectiveness swelled in Tony’s heart as he ducked his head, trying to catch Steve’s eye. They skittered away, afraid, refusing to be caught. Tony let it go. He wouldn’t force him. Wouldn’t push him. But it was cold out, so cold, and it had been a year since Steve had been in the elements. His immune system was probably low, even with the serum. He had to get him inside. Get him warm. Get him _home_.

“I wanted to,” Tony said. “Come on. The jet’s right there. All ready to go.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about this.”

Tony nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. It was an accident I found out. Nobody told me.”

“Then how?”

“Can’t we talk inside? It’s cold.”

Steve shook his head. “How?”

Tony sighed. “I was hacking some of Ross’ files. I ran across it.”

“Why were you hacking his files?”

“Steve, come on.”

_“Why?”_

_There’s that Rogers charm._ “Because. Because that’s what I do. I’m nosy, and I’m pushy, and I’m bossy, and I like to know things that are none of my business.” He took another step closer, piercing Steve’s personal-space bubble. “It just so happens, this time I stumbled onto something that is my business.”

“I’m not your business.”

_And there’s the Rogers stubbornness._ “Okay,” Tony said. “But I’m here. And Fury’s not. So, let me give you a ride, okay? No strings attached. No agendas. No expectations. Just a ride. Okay? Let me do that.”

Even with the sub-freezing temperatures, and the water, and the sealed hatch, Tony wasn’t sure if he’d give in. He stood silently looking out at the ocean, lip quivering with the cold, hands shaking, his whole body shaking. He was probably calculating how long he could stand out here. How long he could wait for someone, anyone, to come pick him up. Would they make it before nightfall? It came fast out here in the middle of the big blue. How long could he stand it with just that jacket? How long before he’d have to go bang on the hatch and ask to come back inside--

He nodded abruptly. “Okay. Okay. Just a ride.”

Tony smiled. “Just a ride.”

“Okay.”

“Hop in, soldier.”

Steve brushed past him and mounted the steps. Tony followed.

The heat was on inside the jet, and after the frigid air outside, it was as warm and soft as a cozy blanket by the fire. Steve stopped in the doorway, letting the warmth envelope him. Tony heard him sigh. Saw the tension ease out of his back. He let his bag fall from his shoulder. It thumped to the ground, heedlessly.

“You okay?” Tony asked from behind him. 

Steve sighed again. It was a good sound. Relieved. Calm. “Yeah.”

“Sit down and buckle up. I’ll tell Jerry we’re ready to go.”

“Okay.”

Steve left his bag where it fell, and eased himself down into one of the seats. Tony picked the bag up, stuffed it away in a cabinet, and went to the cockpit. “Ready when you are, chief.”

“Buckle up, boss. We’ll leave in five.”

“Awesome.”

Tony came back to the cabin. “I can get you a drink once we’re airborne,” he said. “Jerry won’t let me have anything before. He says it’s ‘disruptive’ knowing I’ve got a bottle before take-off.”

Steve had his eyes closed. His head rested against the seat-back. He’d fastened his seat-belt like Tony had told him to do. “Sounds like he knows you pretty well.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, fastening his own belt. 

A not-quite-comfortable silence fell between them as Jerry readied the jet for take-off. The sound of the engine cycled louder, and they began to move. They’d been in a lot of aircraft together, and Tony’s eyes fell to Steve’s hands as they took off. They dug into the armrests, just like they always did. Tony wasn’t sure why it happened. Whether it was a reflex, or a fear, or even a pre-orgasmic throe, all he knew was that it always happened. Maybe everything _hadn’t_ changed.

Once Jerry levelled the jet out, he came on the intercom. “We’re up, Mr. Stark. You can move around now. ETA five hours, twenty-one minutes, if this tailwind holds out.”

“Thanks, Jerry.”

“You bet.”

The intercom clicked off and Tony stood up. “You want a drink?”

“Umm…”

“I’ve got everything,” Tony coaxed.

“Just a Coke, I guess? Do you have a Coke?”

“Coming right up.”

He opened a can of Coke and poured it over a single ice cube, then grabbed a bottle of water for himself. “Here,” he said, and handed the glass to Steve.

He took it and held it in his hands. His face was uncertain. He brought it to his lips and sipped. Smiled. Sipped again.

Tony watched the whole show. “Is it okay? It doesn’t taste weird, does it?”

Steve shook his head. He finally looked at Tony. Just a glance, but it was Steve. Just Steve. Tony felt everything inside him loosen. He sat back, threw a leg over the arm of his seat, and sipped his water. 

“Does it taste the same?” he teased.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“You acted like you were afraid it wouldn’t.”

Steve drank again. “I was.”

“A year is a long time.”

“Yeah.”

“You lost weight.”

“Yeah.”

“On purpose?”

“No.”

“Are you okay other than that?”

“Yeah.”

Tony sat forward. “Steve, I--”

“Tony.”

Tony stopped talking as Steve’s eyes met his and held. The same crystalline blue that had stopped his mouth and stopped his heart forever did so again now. His voice was the same too, if slightly cracked from disuse.

“Tony, is it okay if we don’t talk? For a little while?” Tony frowned, and he went on. “We _can_ talk. Later. If you want to. But maybe not right now?” he finished off his Coke and sat the glass down. The bottom chattered on the table before it sat solid. His hands were still shaking, Tony saw now.

“Okay.”

Steve nodded. “I just...I wasn’t expecting to see you and I, um, I didn’t sleep very well in there.” He tried to smile and strain-lines appeared instead. “I want to make sure what I say is what I mean. You know?”

That old mix of feeling that he knew so well bubbled up in Tony’s gut. The love, the fear, the longing, the frustration, the desire. All present and accounted for. He had held arms agreements inside this jet. Had conversations with heads of state, presidents, _kings_. But what Steve had just said was probably the heaviest, most important statement that had ever been uttered here.

Maybe some time to regroup was a good plan.

“Sure,” Tony said. “Take all the time you need.”

Steve nodded. “Okay. I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute. If that’s okay?”

“Yeah.”

Steve slid down in his seat, slumping a little, crossing his arms over his chest. Tony’s heart ached. It was how he always slept on a plane. In a car. On the couch. Whenever he fell asleep sitting up, it was the same.

His eyes opened again. “Thank you for coming for me.”

Tony nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Steve must have understood, because he smiled. His own little half-smile that reduced Tony to jelly. 

“Five minutes, okay?”

Tony nodded again.

Steve closed his eyes and slept.

Tony watched him sleep. Watched the rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his fingers, the subtle movement behind his closed lids as his brain shifted into the REM cycle. What would they say when they spoke? I love you? I need you? I don’t want my life to be without you? Or would it be “Thanks for the ride, Tony. I’ll see you around”? He had no idea. Wasn’t sure what would be best, even now, seeing him sleeping so peacefully across from him. What did Steve want? Or, better question, what did Steve _deserve_? Certainly more than him. Certainly more than the man who had left him the second he didn’t get his own way. Every time he thought of it, Tony filled with shame. He’d left him. _Left_ him. Steve deserved so much more. He deserved someone who would fight tooth and nail to keep him, not run away when the going got rough.

But Tony wanted him. So so much. He prayed to all the gods that might still be enough.

Steve moved in his sleep, turned his head, a low moan in the back of his throat. He’d been asleep for two hours. _Five minutes, my ass,_ Tony thought, affection tugging at him, but he kept watch, in case this was going to escalate. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t.

Steve’s breathing got rougher. His hands jerked, balling convulsively. He moaned again. 

Tony stood up and switched seats easily, slipping into the one beside him. He raised the armrest so there was no barrier between them. He touched Steve’s shoulder. Shook him gently. He wasn’t afraid. He’d never believed those old-wives tales about waking someone having a nightmare.   
  
“Hey. Steve, hey, come on, soldier. Wake up.”

He shook him harder, and Steve jolted awake, his eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“Hey. Hi.”

Steve’s breath was still ragged. “Are we there?” he muttered. “Where are we?”

Tony smoothed his hand over Steve’s shoulder. “Still in the jet. Remember? I came to pick you up.”

“Oh.” Unsure. But unafraid. There was that. “Are we going home?”

Tenderness tugged at him again. “Yeah. We’re going home.”

Steve shifted closer, still 80% asleep. “‘Kay.” He put his head against Tony’s shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Tony left it there. Because it was.

_No, you don’t deserve that,_ he thought, and rested his own cheek on top of Steve’s head. _But you won him over once. Maybe you can do it again. At least you’d better fucking try._

So, they rode like that for another three hours. Steve’s head on his shoulder, Tony holding him up, alternately toying on his phone, and just resting against his best guy, listening to him breathe, feeling his warmth, his softness, wishing for the scent of good old Skin Bracer (Byyy _Men_ nen) instead of whatever industrial soap it was they had in The Raft’s showers. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t _Steve._

The sun was almost down when Jerry came on the intercom again. 

“We’re getting ready to begin our descent, boss. If you’ve got anything out, stow it.”

“‘Kay. Thanks.”

He tucked his phone back into his pocket. Then sat still as the plane banked, then pointed its nose toward the ground. Beside him, Steve slept on, oblivious. He’d been exhausted. It had shown in the lines around his mouth, his eyes. Tony wasn’t sure how to wake him, wasn’t sure whether he even should. It was his jet. If he wanted to spend the night in it with one sleepy ex-soldier, he’d do it.

But, as the plane bumped to the ground, Steve stirred beside him. He took a deep breath, hummed it out, then rubbed his cheek against the fabric of Tony’s jacket. He’d awoken that way a dozen times during the time they’d lived together. Except then he’d--Steve turned his face into Tony’s shoulder and kissed it. The ritual was complete.

Tony swallowed past the block in his throat. As much as he loved what just happened, he knew it wasn’t real. It wasn’t for him. It was just muscle-memory.

“Hey,” he said softly, moving his shoulder. “Steve. Wake up. We’re here. There. Whatever. Wake up.”

Steve cuddled closer. “Just another minute,” he mumbled. He slipped his arm around Tony’s waist, trying to pull him closer. 

And that was too much. It hurt too much. Like staring at a photograph of a beloved person long deceased. He nudged Steve in the side. “Steve,” he said. “Come on. Wakey-wakey.”

Steve opened his eyes and smiled up at him sleepily. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Are we--oh. _Oh._ Sorry.” He pulled away fast once he realized what he was doing. Once he realized how close he was, how tightly he was clinging to a person he was no longer allowed to cling to. A red blush the color of bricks stained his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--” he flapped a hand at Tony like that explained everything. Tony supposed it did.

“It’s okay, Steve,” he said. “No harm done.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

Steve nodded, sitting as far away as he possibly could within the confines of the seat. It wasn’t really that far, considering, but after the warmth they’d shared during the last three hours, it felt very far indeed.

The plane taxied down the runway, then finally stopped. Tony felt it. So did Steve, but they both sat still until Jerry came on the intercom. “We’re here,” he said, then Steve was on his feet. 

“Where’d I put my bag?” he asked, glancing around.

“You left it on the ground,” Tony said. “ _I_ put it in the cabinet.” He nodded to the corner, and Steve retrieved his old ruck-sack. He ran a hand over it, seeming to draw strength from it, then he exited the plane.

Tony followed.

Steve was looking at the unfamiliar airstrip. Nothing so grand as an “airport” here. There was a long runway, a small terminal with twenty or so cars around it, dormant in the dark. The lights were on in the terminal, however, and a few people milled around inside. Tony was struck by how warm and intimate it looked from here, standing outside in the cold. If he could have reached out and taken Steve’s hand, it would not have been quite so lonely, looking at that island of light in the darkness. As it was, he felt lonelier than he should have. Colder too.

“Where are we?” Steve asked. His breath plumed out, giving his words weight.

“Pennsylvania.”

“Why?”

Tony laughed. “It’s the day after Christmas, Steve. The New York airports were going to be swamped. Jerry calculated here was probably easiest.”

“Why didn’t we land at the Compound?”

Tony shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”

Steve ducked his head. Glanced sidelong at Tony. “Good. I didn’t really want to see anyone there. Thanks.”

Tony nodded, mildly surprised. He’d been ready for a typical Steve Rogers tongue-lashing. And not the good kind. “You’re welcome.”

Steve hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder. “So, do you have a car here, or am I hitching a ride?”

Tony nudged him with his shoulder. “Do I have a car here?” he chided playfully. “I’m not some fucking pedestrian, Steve. Come on.”

Steve followed him toward the tiny parking lot. There were a lot of pick-ups, the rest were monster SUVs that most likely ferried soccer moms and their broods from place to place on a regular basis. In the corner, away from everything else, was a sleek black muscle car. It gleamed under the lone street lamp, its lines long, smooth, and dangerous.

Steve’s eyes moved hungrily across it, then met Tony’s over the hood. “You finished it.”

“1970 Plymouth Hemi-Cuda,” he said. “A ‘71 sold for 3.5 million a few years back.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Steve said sincerely.

Tony shrugged, but pride swelled in his chest. He’d remembered. Tony hadn’t been sure he would.”

“How fast does it go?”

“Factory direct it would do zero to sixty in 5.8 seconds. It topped out at 155.” Tony cocked his head. “But I tinkered.”

Steve’s eyes gleamed. “What does it do now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe we could take it out sometime.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed immediately, his eyes roving over the car again. “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.”

Tony took the keys from his pocket and held them up. “Do you want to drive?”

Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and closed his teeth over it. His gaze had not left the car, and Tony didn’t think he had any idea how he looked in the cold dark, his eyes hungry, his teeth sunk into his lip. The street lamp had put a crystal halo around his head. He looked like an angel. An archangel from the Old Testament. Strong, vicious, righteous, smiting sinners with a vanquishing sword. And why not? Had he not wielded a God-weapon before? Was that not, in all actuality, exactly what he was? Or, at least, had once been?

He looked up suddenly. Tony held his ground, but just barely.

But, then he moved a little, shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other, and the illusion was broken. Steve sighed, and those strain-lines appeared around his eyes again. “Maybe someday,” he said tiredly. “But not tonight.”

Tony nodded. "Sure.”

They got in and Tony keyed the engine to life. It rumbled pleasantly loud. He’d installed a top of the line stereo system, but he didn’t turn it on. He buckled his seat belt. Steve didn’t. He never did unless Tony told him to. Seat belts hadn’t even been a thing in Steve’s day. Steve always claimed he forgot. Tony thought it was more of that battlefield arrogance.

“Where are you staying?” Tony asked.

Steve shrugged. “Sam’s probably. For a day or two, anyway. Nick said he’d set something more permanent up if I wanted.”

“So, you want me to take you to Sam’s?”

Steve moved in his seat, his hand reaching out to unconsciously touch the leather dashboard, caressing it. “No,” he said, uncertainly. “No, not tonight. It’s late and I haven’t talked to him in, well, a year.” His hand moved over the dash. “I don’t really want to answer any questions. I don’t...want to talk.” He sighed. “Maybe just a motel tonight? Anywhere’s fine. I just want to shower and go to bed.”

“Do--” Tony began, stepping lightly. He felt like he was walking on dangerous ground and didn’t want to accidentally tread on something that could blow up in his face. “Do you have any money?” he asked gently.

Steve’s face fell. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hand. “Take me to the Compound,” he whispered. “I’m not technically allowed inside, but Nat and I had a place on the roof. I can sleep there tonight. It’s okay. I’ve done it before.”

Tony shifted the car into reverse. It was a stick-shift. He loved driving stick, loved the control it afforded him. “Anywhere?” he asked, backing out of the parking spot.

“Huh?”

“‘Anywhere’s fine’. You said that.”

He shifted into first and touched the gas pedal. The ‘Cuda purred forward, growling like a jungle cat. 

“I said the Compound.”

“Fuck the Compound. You don’t want to go there, I don’t want to take you there.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“You don’t need any.”

“Where are we going then?” he asked, annoyed.

Tony bit his lip, trying not to smile. _Nope. Not everything had changed._

“Just let me handle it, okay?” he shot back.

Steve slumped in his seat, folded his arms. “Fine,” he said. “Handle it, _Stark._ ” He closed his eyes.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Tony shifted into second, then third. He glanced at Steve, the way he was curled into himself, and smiled a little. That wasn’t defeat in Steve’s posture. Had not been defeat in his words. He was playing along. Still thinking he had the upper hand while giving the impression of surrender. The fact that they both knew what was going on was part of the game too. That’s what made it work. That’s what made it fun.

Tony shifted up to fourth and let the ‘Cuda ride at sixty-five. It was cold but dry. The roads were clear. She had a lot more under the hood--a _lot_ more. More than Tony had realized--but he kept her reined in for now. One of these days he _would_ take her out, though. Take her out and push the gas and really let her show her stuff. But not tonight.

Tonight he just wanted to get Steve home.

It took an hour to get there. If Steve had been feigning sleep when they first started out, he wasn’t pretending anymore. Despite his nap on the plane, Steve was once again deeply asleep as Tony pulled into the driveway. He hadn’t been able to help himself, and on one particularly lonely stretch of the road, had let her run just a little. He punched the gas, Steve sleeping peacefully beside him, and let her out until the red needle stood at 100 MPH. She didn’t even shudder. Tony brought her back down. He didn’t know the road, it was dark, and Captain Stubborn wasn’t buckled in. But the exilheration stayed. He adored flying in the suit, but there really was nothing like driving a beautiful car. You could get drunk off that. He looked at Steve, the way his head was tipped to the side, exposing his neck. You could get drunk off _that_ , too.

Tony reached over and took Steve’s arm. “Wake up, soldier,” he said, and this time, Steve roused almost immediately.

He looked around at the familiar surroundings. Familiar, but different, too. He’d never seen the trees innocent of leaves. The meadow brown and dry, the long grasses tilled under. The dock was still there, a white, bony finger jutting out from the shore, but now it pointed only at ice. The swim float that had been anchored twenty yards out had been hauled in. It sat in the boat house, waiting patiently for next spring when it could be anchored out again. Across the lake, Christmas lights twinkled on three or four other houses.

There were no Christmas lights here, but the porch light was on. Tony had left it on when he locked up this morning. He’d known it would be dark when he got home. He hadn’t known he’d have Steve with him. He’d hoped, but hadn’t known, and now he looked at him apprehensively, worrying, but not showing it. Wondering if he’d gone too far bringing him here.

Steve got wordlessly out. Tony got out too. They both stood in the open doors of the car, staring up at the house.

“Holy shit, what did you do?” Steve asked. 

Tony shrugged. “What we talked about.”

Tony had been far from idle after he found out about Steve’s incarceration. He’d kept up his work with the Avengers, but on the side, he’d worked on this too.

When he and Steve had moved in before, the cabin had been one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room, a kitchen, a loft. Pretty decent, as far as cabin-living went, but now there were three new bedrooms, two new bathrooms, and a lab with all the same toys as the one in the Tower. He’d left the garage as it was--he liked the old-timey feel of it. It reminded him of his mother--but had connected it to the house by a glassed-in walkway that stayed warm even in this frigid cold. He liked walking to the garage in his shirt sleeves and bare feet. He liked stopping on the way there and looking out at the cold morning through the ice-laced glass. It made him happy in the same indistinct way solving an obscure coding riddle made him happy.

He’d moved back up here in November. It was as easy working from here as it was from the Tower, with the added bonus that if Ross ever wanted to see him, he’d have to travel a lot more out of his way. That would cut his visits by a lot. That had been on Tony’s Christmas wish-list, and as they always say, Santa helped those who helped themselves. Or something like that.

Steve eyed the addition, lingering over the two storeys, the glass walkway. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

“I guess so,” Steve said vaguely. Tony didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way he said it. Maybe it was because he’d been gone so long, but Tony didn’t feel like he could read him as well as he used to.

He tried to shake it off. “Do you want me to show you around?”

Steve shook his head. “No.” He took his bag out of the car. “I’m tired. I’ll just kip on the couch, then I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Are you pissed or something?”

Steve shook his head again. “No, Tony,” he said. “I just...I’m just tired.”

Tony nodded. Suddenly, he was tired too. He had a bad feeling he’d done something wrong, and he wasn’t quite sure what it had been. Sure, coming to pick him up had not been the plan, but surely Steve had known somewhere inside that head of his that Tony would show up. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to know, but he found things out. Nobody could keep anything from him. Steve knew that. Sure, it probably wasn’t what he’d had in mind when Tony brought him here to the home they’d shared, but Steve had to have guessed he’d end up here. Right? And that Tony had changed it all while he’d been gone? Right? _Right?_

He sighed. “Come on, Steve,” he said softly. “You do look tired. And you can have the bed, ‘kay? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Steve said. “No, I’ll take the couch. If that’s okay? I’d rather do that.”

“Sure.”

Tony led him up to the door. Same old door. That hadn’t changed. He shook the key out and opened it.

Steve followed him inside, and Tony watched his reaction. The front of the house was the same. Everything branched off the newly-expanded kitchen. Steve glanced that way, then stared at the bedroom door. The bedroom they had shared. The bedroom where Tony now slept alone.

Steve put his bag down, then crossed the room to that spot. He scuffed his toe on the hardwood, then squatted easily on his haunches and touched the floor. 

“Looks like the blood didn’t stain it too bad,” he said. “That’s good.”

Actually, they’d stripped, sanded, and revarnished the floor, but Tony just said, “No. They were okay.”

Steve’s fingers lingered on the floor. “Strange said I thought you were Johann Schmidt. He said that’s why I did it.”

“Yeah. You said stuff in German and called me that.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “Do you speak German?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t know what I said?”

“You called me a pig. I think. And told me to keep my mouth shut or something.”

He nodded. “They think I was buying drugs from some guy. Did they tell you that?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. They searched the house. They didn’t find anything here.”

“You know that’s not what happened, right?” Steve asked. “You know I didn’t do that?”

“Of course, I know. I know you’d never do that. I told them all that.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Steve said. “I just want to make sure you know.”

Tony crossed the floor to where Steve squatted and reached down. He touched his hair lightly with just his fingertips. Steve didn’t tell him to stop. So, he did it again.

“I know.”

Steve nodded again. His face was still solemn, but some of that bad feeling in the pit of Tony’s stomach went away anyway. Maybe this would still be alright. Maybe it wasn’t ruined yet.

Steve stood up. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“You know where it is.”

“Yeah,” he said, and a ghost of a smile flitted over his face. “I know.”

He grabbed his bag and headed away. 

“Maybe tomorrow I can show you the new ones?”

Another tiny smile. “Maybe.”

  
Tony barely slept. He was terrified that as soon as he drifted off, Steve would leave. It wouldn’t be for six months this time, or a year, or even two. No, this time, he’d leave for good and Tony would never see him again.

Tony checked on him twice between the time Steve bedded down around midnight, and three a.m. when he finally drifted off to sleep himself. Both times, Steve had been curled on his side, his back to the room, hugging a pillow to his chest. He used to hug Tony like that when he slept, and it was all he could do to not crawl over him and into his arms. They’d come together around him on their own, of course. They always had, they would again, and he’d let them stay. Would, in fact, turn to face Steve and put his own arms around him and hold on. This “being apart” bullshit wasn’t working anymore. Tony wanted him back.

He woke up again at seven. He’d left the bedroom door open, and this time, when he looked out, Steve was gone. Tony panicked only for a moment, though. His jacket was still hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. His ruck-sack still sat by the door. He hadn’t gone far, then.

Tony cleaned himself up a little, then started coffee. When it was done, he poured a large mug, dumped in his customary three sugars, and went in search of his elusive Captain. He didn’t call for him, he just wandered from room to room, searching. He was in no rush. He’d find him eventually. Even with the addition, the cabin was only so big.

As usual, the last place he looked was where he found him. Tony went through the glass walkway, enjoying that heat as he went, and came out in the garage. Steve was there, standing by the far wall where Tony worked. He had his hands in his pockets, an old flannel shirt billowed around his thin frame. 

Tony knew what he was looking at. He stood there and looked at it himself a lot. Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d come down here and look at it for an hour or more, imagining Steve’s face, his hands, his eyes intently narrowed as he pencilled in those lines, shaded, used his finger to smudge the charcoal a little to produce the shadows under the Bentley.

“Hey,” Tony said, coming near.

“Hey.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I took that.”

“I drew it for you. It’s yours.”

“It turned out great.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s a little clumsy. The proportion of the tire isn’t quite right.”

“I think it’s perfect.”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“You’re always so fucking hard on yourself.”

“I just like things to be right.”

“Is that why you agreed to go?” Tony asked, jumping right in. Steve had said they could talk later if he wanted. It was later. And he wanted. “‘Cause it was right?”

“Yeah.”

“And fuck the consequences.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “Prison was the consequence, Tony. It was the effect, not the cause.”

“What was the cause, then?”

“I’ve fucked up a lot. Take your pick.”

“That’s bullshit. Self-indulgent bullshit.”

“Think what you want. You never were able to see the truth when it came to me.”

Tony drank his coffee, then shook his own head. “That’s not true,” he scoffed. “I hated you when we first met.”

Steve’s eyes hadn’t left his drawing during the entire conversation, but now they rolled heavenward. “I didn’t deserve it then, Tony,” he said.

Tony huffed. But it was affectionate. _Fucking Steve._ “You always have to be right, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to be,” Steve said. “I just am.”

“Always with the wit, huh, Rogers?”

Steve snapped his head towards him, his face a swirl of emotions, humor, pain, not knowing which one to feel. Tony smiled at him, and Steve smiled back, clearly relieved. “Same old Tony,” he said. “Always a smart-ass.”

Tony nodded in agreement. He wasn’t wrong. “What are you doing down here anyway?” he asked. “You never used to come down here.”

“It was harder with the chair.”

“You used to roll eight miles around the lake, Steve. That twenty yards wasn’t going to kill you.”

Steve lifted one shoulder. “This was your place. You needed a space to yourself.”

“Did you feel like I didn’t want you here?”

“No. I never felt like that. You never made me feel like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

“Good. ‘Cause I wanted you with me. I always wanted you with me.”

Steve swallowed and he shuddered out a breath. Tony didn’t want him to be upset, didn’t want him to hurt, but these were things he wanted to say. He wanted Steve to know. In case he hadn’t before.

“I wish I could have deserved that more back then,” Steve said.

“You _did_ deserve it. I loved you.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “We were pretty happy, weren’t we, Tony?” he asked. “I didn’t just make that up, did I?”

Tony closed his eyes. “No. You didn’t make that up.” 

“That’s good. I wanted it to be true. So much of what I thought back then was...mixed up. I didn’t want that to one of them.”

“It wasn’t.”

Steve nodded. Tried to smile. “Good. That’s good.” He stepped away from the picture, away from Tony, and waved a hand at where the cars had sat for so long while he worked on them. The stalls were empty now. The ‘Cuda still outside, the other car gone, too.

“I came down to see what you’d done to the Charger. The ‘Cuda turned out so good, I wanted to see how it looked.”

Disappointment moved through him. “Oh,” Tony said. “I’m sorry. I gave it to Jeff. I’ll have him show it to you.”

Steve’s face went carefully blank. “Oh. Jeff.” He nodded. “That’s great, Tony. I’m happy for you.”

“What?”

“Nat told me you and your girl broke it off. I’m sure this Jeff’s real nice. That’s good.”

Tony laughed. “No. Jeff...he’s not my...anything. Well, I mean, he’s my friend. He’s on my bowling team.”

“Your what?”

“Uh...nothing.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just say ‘bowling team’?”

“No.”

Steve grinned. It made him look like a kid. And it made Tony’s heart flutter. Fucking Steve. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.”

Tony threw his hands up in mock exasperation. “Fine, Rogers. _Fine._ I said bowling team, okay? I bowl. I am a bowler. And I’ll tell you something else, I’m a damn good one, too. I bowl a 240 now.”

Steve laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Tony’s heart fluttered again, and his stomach did a happy little roll.

“I’d like to see that.”

Tony shrugged, all feigned nonchalance. “Stick around. I’ll take you.”

The laughter dried up. Steve shoved his hands back into his pockets. “No, that’s probably not the best idea.”

“Why? Are you afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

“Tony--”

Tony raised his hands in surrender. He was trying desperately to keep this light. He did not want Steve to go. Emphatically _not._ But, as per usual, Steve was skittish. He’d bolt if frightened. Tony would never push for anything Steve didn’t want, but he wanted to be around him. To bask in his sun and swim in those still waters that ran so deep. He wanted to be close to him again. In whatever capacity, whatever form Steve would allow.

“Hey,” he said, “no strings, okay? Just like the plane ride home: no strings, no agendas, no expectations.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said.

“You gotta stay somewhere,” Tony said. “This is just as much your place as it is mine.”

Steve looked at him from under his lowered lashes. Tony remembered that look. It very nearly brought him to his knees. Just like it always had. 

“Is it? Still?”

“It is if you want it to be, Steve,” Tony said. “Come on. I don’t want to live alone. I got so used to having people around. It kind of sucks not having anybody to talk to.”

“You’ve got FRIDAY.”

“And she’s great. And I love her. But it’s not the same.”

Steve scuffed his toe on the concrete. “Well…”

“Come on,” Tony said again. “Stay. I’ll even buy those gross blueberry Pop Tarts you like.”

“The frosted ones?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ the frosted ones. Does _anyone_ buy the unfrosted ones?”

“Somebody probably does.”

“Heathens.”

Steve smiled. “Okay,” he relented. “For a little while. But if it gets too weird--”

“It won’t get weird.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for inundating you all with this thing. I'm trying to push it all out in the next week or so. Just a few more chapters, and one final little story, then we're done!


	7. Chapter 7

It got weird.

Not in a bad way. It got weird in the best way. The weird where being with someone became the most important thing. The weird where the chemistry was so potent it felt like a physical thing that almost took on a life of its own. The weird where the need to touch became as important as the need to eat, the need to breathe, and yet the inability to do so heightened the meaning behind every word, every meeting of the eye. 

Sometimes it was fine. They’d known each other for years now, and were well used to each other’s idiosyncrasies. Steve got up too early. Went for a jog--no real runs yet, the marathon runs of yesteryear were still beyond him--ate, cleaned, drew, read book after book after book, watched movies. He was currently working his way through the Brat Pack era. He had a thing for Molly Ringwald and absolutely no patience for Andrew McCarthy. The viewing of “Pretty in Pink” had ended in an hour-long tirade after which he swore he was done with the entire genre. “The Breakfast Club” brought him back. On a trial-basis, at least. He started working out again, too. At Tony’s urging, he took over the loft area as his own, and turned one corner of it into a gym. He was still a light sleeper most nights, and sometimes, lifted or pounded sandbags until four or five in the morning, took a cat-nap, then went for his run at six.

It was all familiar. All comforting. All _Steve_.

Tony’s routine was familiar too. All work, some play, never a dull boy. Avengers stuff came first, just as it always had, but after people saw the Charger he’d given Jeff and the Hemi Cuda he himself drove around now, he’d found himself with a healthy little side-business of fixing and upgrading cars. He didn’t charge much--just the cost of parts--and would have happily done it for free, but these were country people. They wanted to pay their own way. Tony respected that and charged them a little. He donated whatever they paid to the town’s organizations, so it was all okay in his mind. After work, he’d join Steve for dinner and a movie or a couple hours of TV before they’d each retire to their own living quarters--Tony in their old bedroom, Steve in the loft--where they would spend the night thinking about each other.

_Mamihlapinatapai._

It wasn’t French, but it was the word, alright.

Sometimes it wasn’t okay. Like when Steve had a nightmare while napping on the couch and Tony went to comfort him. Steve threw Tony’s hand away, yelled “I’m none of your fucking business, Tony, remember?” and stomped off. Or when Tony heard Steve and FRIDAY speaking to each other in a soft, gentle way, like old friends--old _lovers_ \--that set him aflame with jealousy and he refused to speak to either one for two days.

Those nights, however, ended the same as the rest. Both of them lying sulkily in their beds, thinking about the other, wishing he was there, wishing they could just touch, kiss, fuck some sense into him.

Those times didn’t come around often, though. It was mostly okay between them, if a little _fraught_ , and as January began to get old, they slipped into their routine with a scary ease.

Steve still hadn’t spoken to the others. He’d sent them each a text saying he was okay, but that he still needed time to get his head straight before he saw anyone. He said he’d talk to them when he could. He didn’t say where he was.

Tony received several texts after that. They ranged from concerned--Sam--to indecipherable--Clint, which contained nothing but _WTF?!_ and a string of emojis Tony couldn’t have explained if he’d tried. They all seemed to know Steve was with him, though. He didn’t know if that was poor secret-keeping on Natasha’s part, which seemed unlikely, or just good guess-work on everyone else’s.

Tony responded to them all, basically just reiterating Steve’s original text, but the fact that it had the Stark seal of approval seemed to make it okay. Tony couldn’t help but preen a little at that.

True to his word, Tony took Steve to the bowling alley with him. He introduced Steve, even though all the guys knew who he was, then proceeded to bowl a spectacularly bad game. 

Afterward, Jeff clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Thank god tonight was only a practice. Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “I think I’m his bad luck charm.”

“No, I don’t think so. You just make him nervous.”

Steve watched Tony moodily zip his ball into its bag--hot rod red and gold, of course. “You think so?”

Jeff nodded and drank his beer. He had a round, pleasant face. He was a round, pleasant guy, and Steve could see why Tony had taken to him so well. “Oh yeah. He wanted to impress you, and it threw him off. It happens.”

“He wasn’t trying to impress me.”

Jeff chuckled under his breath and squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “Ah, son. Open your eyes.”

Tony came over before Steve could reply. “Maybe you should replace me. Get that Jordan guy back. I’m the worst.”

“Hell, no. You just need to get back in the swing of it. You were gone for a long time.”

“Yeah. I need to practice more," Tony muttered. "Get down here a couple afternoons a week.”

“Tournament’s in June. We’ll get you back in form.”

“I kept sliding to the right. I could feel it happening, I just--”

“I thought you were great,” Steve said suddenly.

Tony and Jeff both looked at him. “I bowled a 130, Steve,” Tony said. “In case you didn’t notice, that fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, but the ones you hit went down hard. And you got a strike in the fourth frame. I think it was the best one anybody did all night.”

Tony frowned uncertainly.

Jeff nodded. “He’s right. That was a great frame. Textbook.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked. “I mean, it felt pretty good while I was doing it, but…”

“It was perfect, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony nodded, smiling a little. 

“Okay. Okay, so I’ll just think ‘fourth-frame’ thoughts from now on, right? Every time I get up it’s all ‘fourth frame, fourth frame, fourth frame’ from here on out.”

“See?” Jeff said. “You’ve got a game-plan already. You’ll be back on top in no time.”

Tony nodded, stole a glance at Steve. “Maybe.”

Steve stood up and bumped his shoulder against Tony’s. “Of course you will. Nothing keeps Tony Stark down.”

Jeff watched them for a minute, smiling at the way they were smiling at each other. “I have to go. Jen made spaghetti casserole for dinner. She’ll kick my ass if I’m not home to eat it.”

He shook Tony’s hand, then Steve’s, tipping him a wink then headed out the door into the cold night air.

The rest of the team had left earlier, so Steve and Tony were alone. It was dark in the alley, mostly quiet. A couple of kids on a date rolled an occasional ball down the far lane. They threw gutter-balls almost exclusively, then groaned or high-fived at the worst ones. The boy’s eyes were bright, the girl’s color high. They laughed a lot.

Steve watched them as Tony stepped up beside him. “What are you smiling at?”

Steve nodded at them. The boy dropped the ball on his toe, and the girl covered her mouth, rocking in her chair, giggling. Tony shook his head. “God, were we ever that young?”

“I don’t know. A long time ago, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged into his coat and picked up his ball. “What do you think? Chinese   
or pizza?”

“Chinese, I guess.”

“Good choice.”

They ate at the restaurant, then drove home through the frozen dark. Steve kept his head turned, eyes staring out the window, watching the shadows of the trees stream past. Tony had the heater on, the stereo turned to some local station that seemed to have no real format, just playing whatever they wanted with no rhyme or reason except tonight when it seemed every song was a love song. He made it through "I Remember You" and "Wild Horses" okay, and was on edge through "These Arms of Mine", but when they got to “Everything I Own”, Tony couldn’t stand it anymore, and snapped the radio off.

Steve sighed. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Steve leaned his head against the back of the seat. “Do you think those kids will remember tonight? When they get to be our age?”

Tony glanced at him. “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say ‘our age’ like we’re the _same_ age.”

Steve smiled.

“But, yeah,” Tony went on. “I’ll bet they do. I _hope_ they do.”

“Me too.”

“It looked like a good date.”

“Do you remember your dates from when you were that age?”

“A couple, I guess.”

“Tell me one.”

Tony laughed cynically. “Nah. You don’t want to hear that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You probably don’t. They weren’t like those kids back there. They weren’t nice like that.”

“Tell me one anyway.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “They were loud. At clubs or parties. A lot of drinking. A lot of drugs. A lot of sex.” He shrugged. “It was the eighties and I was rich. A lot of people wanted to fuck their way through me. And I wanted them to. That was pretty much my life back then.”

“Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I’d met you then,” Steve said.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t think about that.”

“Why?”

“Just...just don’t. Okay? I don’t want you to.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

They pulled into the driveway and parked. Tony shut the car off, but neither moved to get out. 

“Tony?” Steve asked.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sorry you brought me back here?”

“Do I seem sorry?”

“I don’t know.”

Tony’s hand had still been resting on the gear shift. Now he took it off and let it hover over Steve’s. He traced one finger very lightly over Steve’s knuckles, then took it away. “I’m not sorry. Are you sorry you stayed?”

“No.”

“Good.”

The air in the car felt very heavy, that funny _fraught_ feeling almost overwhelming. Tony knew Steve felt it too, had been feeling it almost the whole month they’d been back under the same roof. Tony knew how to ease it, but still wasn’t sure if Steve wanted him back. He thought he did. When he touched his hand just now, he thought it felt like Steve had wanted to touch him too. He thought it felt like the barrier between them had nearly crumbled. But thinking and knowing were two different things.

“We should go inside,” Steve said. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah.”

They got out and walked to the front door. Side by side, step for step, their hands nearly touching as they mounted the steps.

Tony took his keys out of his pocket and seated it in the lock. Steve stood beside him. Tony could feel his eyes on him, the weight of them hot and heavy. He turned the key, and the door opened. A rush of warm air eddied around them, beckoning them inside.

Tony went first, stepping through the door, then stopped just over the threshold. Steve followed closely, and pulled the door closed behind him. It was dark in the cabin, the only light coming from the bulb over the sink in the kitchen and the mellow glow of the reactor in Tony’s chest peeking through his unzipped coat.

The _fraught_ feeling had followed them through the door. It hung around them in a haze, existed between them like a piano wire tuned two octaves too tight. Tony fancied he could hear Steve’s heart in his chest thumping as crazily as his own. The scent of Skin Bracer was sharp and welcoming. 

“I should…” Steve said softly, and in the dim light, Tony saw him glance toward the loft.

“No,” Tony said, matching his tone. “No, don’t.” He reached out, laid his hand against Steve’s chest. It was as firm as ever.

Steve took in a deep breath, his chest rose beneath Tony’s hand. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Tony slid his hand down Steve’s chest, over the dip of his stomach, to the top of his jeans. He hooked his finger through his belt loop, delighting in the sweet irony of that, and tugged Steve closer.

“Come here,” he murmured, and Steve came to him, giving in to Tony’s insistent fingers until they stood flush against each other. Steve, taller, broader, looming over Tony’s slighter frame.

Tony kept one hand on Steve’s waist and moved the other up his arm, his shoulder, the side of his neck, until he was running his fingers through the familiar hair at the back of his head. It felt like watered silk, fine, soft, smooth.

Steve’s own hands settled on Tony’s waist, and stayed there, not moving, not pushing him away, just holding, just existing there as if that was where they belonged, where they always belonged. He kept his head lowered, not meeting Tony’s eyes, as Tony stroked the back of his neck, anchoring him in the shadows.

“Steve,” Tony said. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

He nodded. His eyes were lowered, his hands, large and warm, holding Tony close. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Tony reached for him, but Steve pulled back slightly. He tried again, and Steve pulled back again, keeping his mouth barely out of reach. 

“You’re going to have to stop moving if we want this to work,” Tony said in a low voice.

Steve bent and put his mouth against Tony’s ear. His breath tickled, and Tony shuddered against his chest. “I know how it works, Tony,” he said.

“Do you? ‘Cause we’re not kissing yet.”

Steve laughed low and soft in Tony’s ear, his bedroom-laugh times ten. His lips brushed Tony’s skin, caught on his earlobe. His breath caressed the sensitive skin of his neck. Tony felt his fingers tighten a little on his waist, squeezing him, and then they were gone. “Goodnight,” Steve whispered, and turned away. He crossed the room, climbed the stairs, and was gone, melted into the shadows, as if he had never been there at all.

Tony stared after him. His body was in turmoil, and suddenly, he didn’t seem able to get enough breath. “Really?” he sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Fucking _really_?”

There was no door at the top of the stairs, no walls, just a railing made up of a log as a crossbeam and clear-varnished pine branches as spindles. They’d kept it that way even after Steve moved up there. Privacy? What did he need privacy for? Steve Rogers was an open book. Tony heard him moving up there, the rustle of his clothing, the squeak of the mattress as he sat down on it. 

Hot, hungry want ran its rampant course through his body. He could go up there. He could climb on top of him, punish him, fuck him until his brains came out of his ears. Tony could almost see him on the bed sheets beneath him, head thrown back, eyes lidded, sweaty, gorgeous, thoroughly wrecked.

“Tease!” Tony called up the stairs, then went into the bedroom. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but it was a very near thing.

Tony shrugged out of his coat and chucked it into the corner. He stood on one foot, yanked his shoe off and threw it, then did the same with the other one. 

“‘Goodnight’?” he muttered incredulously. “What the hell is _that_?” He looked up at the ceiling, imagining Steve up there, lying on his bed, all cozy beneath the covers. _He_ probably wasn’t feeling anything. _He_ was probably just fine up there all by himself. He probably felt pretty pleased with himself that he had let Tony work himself up and then left him all alone down here. 

_Isn’t that pretty much what you did to him, Stark?_ he thought, and that old, familiar shame flooded through him, dampening the desire.

Tony turned the light off and laid down on the bed, still fully clothed. He put his hand behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about it. _Yup, you kind of deserve this_ , he thought. And that was true. He deserved to be lying here alone, riled up, lonely, frustrated. Because that was exactly what Tony had done to Steve. He broke into that hospital, woke Steve up from his slumber, got him excited, got him anxious, then ran away without a backward glance. 

_My god, Tony, what kind of person_ are _you?_

He didn’t want to answer that question.

In his pocket, his phone vibrated, let out a muted _ding!_ sound. Tony pawed it out and looked at the screen. Steve. Texting him.

- _Are you mad?_

Tony smiled. 

- **I’m burning an effigy of you right now.**

Tony imagined him reading that; his perfect white teeth, his soft, red lips curving upward.

_-Keep a fire extinguisher handy. There’s no fire escape up here._

**-Good.**

Almost immediately, a frowny-face emoji appeared. Tony laughed. Who had taught him to text? But he knew. Clint.

**-Stop playing the cute-card. I’m still mad.**

_-I’m sorry._

- **Are you?**

_-Yes._

**-How sorry?**

_-Very sorry._

**\--Send me a pic. I want to see your sorry-face.**

Pause.

_-I don’t know how to use the camera._

Tony laughed. He wasn’t mad. Had never really been mad. How could anyone be mad at Steve? How could anyone be mad at the one good thing in their life? The one pure thing, the one thing that made their entire existence worthwhile?

**-Come down here then. Let me see it in person.**

_-I don’t think that would be a very good idea._

**-Then let me come up there.**

_-I don’t think so._

Tony lay there, undecided. He needed to see him. He had something he needed to say. It had been building up for a while now. All the days they had sat together at the breakfast table, all the nights they had sat next to each other in the living room, the television on, a fire in the hearth, the lights dim, the scent of Steve, the _feel_ of him so close, but still too far away to touch. All the shy glances, both given and received, the electric feeling of an accidental brush of a shoulder as they passed in the hallway, the way his eyes lit up when Tony came into the room, the way he smiled, the way he laughed, his hands, his voice, the curve of his neck…

**-Will you meet me on the stairs, then? Just for a minute? I’ve got to talk to you.**

_-You are talking to me._

**-No, Steve, for real. Please? It’s important.**

There was a pause, and Tony was afraid he would say no. Afraid he would lose his chance. He was ready now. It had to be now. If he didn’t take this opportunity right now, he never would. He would let it go by, and they would maybe live together for a little longer, but soon, Steve would leave. He’d just leave. Tony would wake up one morning, and that old ruck-sack would be gone from its place next to the door, his leather jacket would be gone from the back of the couch where he always left it, and he would be gone. He might not even leave a note this time.

His phone dinged.

_-Okay._

Tony jumped to his feet and left the room. 

They met on the stairs, Steve halfway down, Tony halfway up. Steve had discarded the sweater he’d had on when they went to the bowling alley, but he was still wearing his t-shirt and jeans. Just a plain t-shirt, a soft-looking heather gray. Tony wanted to touch it. Wanted to run his hands all over it, but he resisted. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his eyes flashed in the semi-gloom, searching Tony’s. Those three worry-lines were between his brows. 

Tony shook his head. “No.”

“What’s wrong?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, then gestured between them. “This. This is wrong.”

“What?”

“ _This,_ Steve. The way things are between us now. It doesn’t feel right.”

“You _are_ sorry you brought me here,” Steve said, and Tony let out a harsh breath. He shook his head.

“No. _No_ , baby, I’m not sorry. Not for bringing you here. Not for being with you, not for wanting you, or loving you. I could never be sorry for that. Not for any of those things.”

Steve leaned against the railing, and folded his arms. He looked tired, defeated as he bowed his head. “What, then?” he said softly. “What do you want from me, Tony?”

Tony stepped closer, not just piercing Steve’s personal bubble, but shattering it. He put his hands on Steve’s arms, touched them, ran his hands over them, gripping them almost desperately. “I want you to forgive me.”

Steve chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes, kept his own cast down. He didn’t pull away from Tony’s touch, but did not respond to it, either. “You left me there,” he said in a voice that was barely even audible. “At that hospital. You left me there. After you _promised_ \--”

“I know.” Tony said, restlessly running his hands over Steve’s arms, his shoulders, his neck, his face. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for that. Everything was fucked up and I just lost it. I went crazy.” Steve let out a breath, and Tony pressed against him. “And that’s not your fault, and it’s not a reason. I know. But, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He clutched Steve’s cheek, trying to pull him down, trying to get Steve’s eyes on him. “Please. Please just…just forgive me. You don’t have to be with me, if that’s not what you want, but please just forgive me. Just tell me that it’s okay.”

“I don’t know if it is,” Steve whispered. 

Tony felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of his chest. He leaned abruptly forward, sagging against Steve’s chest, putting his forehead on his broad shoulder. He held him, clung to him. “Don’t say that,” he said. “It has to be. We have to _make_ it be. _I_ have to. Tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you want, baby, all you have to do is say it.”

Steve was silent for a long time. Tony kept his arms around him, stayed as close to him as possible. He was terrified of what Steve would say, terrified that he would turn him away, so he just gripped him harder, waiting to hear his fate. 

Finally, Steve shifted. His hands came up to rest on Tony’s waist like they had downstairs. Again he didn’t push him away, didn’t pull him closer, just held him. He put his face into Tony’s neck. “Come upstairs with me.”

Tony’s heart stopped, then skipped ahead, almost missing a beat. He laughed helplessly. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”

He smiled into Tony’s skin. “Yeah.”

“Say it again.”

“Come upstairs with me,” Steve repeated, then finally slipped his arms around Tony’s waist and held him closer. “I don’t know if I’m ready to _be_ with you, but I don’t want to be without you.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Steve laughed softly. “Shut up, Tony.”

\--- 

He wasn’t sure what roused him from sleep, all he knew was that he was grateful. Asleep, he couldn’t feel the heavy, sweet weight that was Steve Rogers encompassing him. Couldn’t feel his arm around him, his leg over him, trapping him in the most divine way imaginable. Couldn’t feel Steve’s breath on his neck, slow, steady, even. Couldn’t revel in the riot of happiness that existed inside just to be waking up in this bed with him still sleeping peacefully beside him. That hadn’t happened in a long time. Too long. So, whatever had woken him was now his new hero. His new best friend.

They hadn’t made love. They hadn’t done anything but lie together for the longest time after climbing the stairs hand-in-hand. Tony lay in Steve’s arms, pressed fully against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, with his eyes closed. After a while, he felt Steve’s breath on his cheek, then his lips, soft and sweet on his mouth. Tony kissed him back, never pushing, just letting Steve dictate the pace and the pressure. It didn’t go much further than gentle lips and a soft tongue, but it was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Tony shifted a little now, and Steve murmured something in his sleep, then was silent again. Tony wished he knew what was going on inside that head. He knew what the nightmares were about. They’d talked about those. Mostly of him falling, drowning, his heart stopping as the icy waters covered him. No wonder he hated _Titanic_ so much. He didn’t need to see it on the screen. He’d lived it.

_Fuck you, Clint Barton,_ Tony thought, and closed his eyes again. 

He was just drifting back off when there was a knock on the door downstairs. 

_Oh_. That’s what it had been.

He looked at his watch. Eight a.m. 8:02, to be exact. Tony groaned. _Fuck you too, whoever you are,_ he thought, and attempted to extricate himself from the pleasant snare of Steve’s limbs.

Steve didn’t make it easy. He tightened his grip, pulling him closer. Tony laughed under his breath.

“Hey. Hey, big guy, you gotta let me up.”

“Huh-uh.”

“Uh- _huh_. Come on, there’s somebody at the door.”

Steve nuzzled his face into Tony’s neck. “Fuck ‘em.”

Tony laughed again and lifted Steve’s arm so he could slide out from under it. Steve whined in the back of his throat, frowning, his eyes still closed. Oh god, how had he lived without _that_ for forty-whatever-but-who’s-counting years? And how could he exist now knowing that was a possibility? That pouty little whine, that frown? How would he ever be able to get out of bed again?

Tony leaned over and kissed his temple. “Don’t get up, ‘kay?” he said, kissing him a second and third time. “I’ll be back.”

Steve snaked his hand toward him and grasped his wrist. He caressed the inner part with his thumb. “Five minutes, Tony,” he mumbled. “Then I want you back here.”

Tony kissed him again. “More like thirty seconds, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Tony stole one of the blankets off the bed and wrapped it around himself. He’d kicked his jeans off before getting into bed and didn’t bother trying to find them. If whoever was at the door wanted him that bad, they could have him like this.

The knocking began again as he went down the stairs. _If this is someone wanting to tell me about our savior, Jesus Christ, they’re getting an earful,_ he thought, and opened the door.

“Did I wake you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony blinked, rubbed his eyes. “Ross?” he said. “Are you here to tell me about our savior, Jesus Christ? Because if you are, can you come back in about four hours?”

Tony didn’t think even Stephen Strange could match the look of disdain that crossed Thaddeus Ross’ features. “We had an appointment?” he said. “January thirtieth. Eight a.m.”

“Oh.” Tony groaned and rubbed his eyes again with the back of the hand not holding the blanket closed around him. “The Quinjet specs. Fuck. Yeah.”

“Are they ready?” Ross asked blandly.

“Of course, they are. They’ve been ready for a week.”

“May I see them?”

“Uh,” Tony glanced down at himself, then over his shoulder at the loft where Steve lay asleep. _Hopefully_ still asleep. “Yeah. Look, go around to the garage, okay? I’ll just slip into something a little less comfortable, and I’ll be right there.”

“I thought you had a lab in this place.”

Tony rubbed his eyes again. “I do. But there’s more room in the garage. I’ll be able to pull it up larger and give you a better overall visual.” _Also, Steve will be less likely to see you in the garage._

“Fine,” Ross said. “Make it quick. I have another appointment at noon, and it’ll take three hours to get there from here.”

“Sure. Just toddle on over to the garage. I’ll be there in two shakes.”

Ross turned, dapper in a tweed top coat--the dude had style, Tony had to admit--and began to pick his way across the frozen lawn to the garage door.

Tony closed the front door gently and ran to the bedroom. He scrounged a pair of jeans from the closet, then grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer. Lynyrd Skynyrd. Steve folded all Tony’s t-shirts so the design faced up. Had he ever even noticed that until now? God, he was amazing. Tony found one shoe, but not the other. He’d been a little frustrated the night before, and had no idea where he’d thrown the other one.

“FRI?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Is Steve still asleep?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Awesome. Thanks, angel.”

“You bet.”

Tony tossed the shoe he’d found away. Fuck it. The other was gone. Maybe it had went through a worm-hole. A dimensional gap. Things like that existed. He could attest to that first-hand.

He left the bedroom and glanced up at the loft again. Sometimes, after he’d pulled four or five all-nighters, Steve’s body would simply give in, and he’d sleep the clock around. Tony hoped this was one of those days. Steve knew he’d been working with the Avengers, but Tony had not told him about Ross’ occasional meetings. He hadn’t had to. Had, in fact, forgotten they even existed. His mind had been a bit preoccupied of late. What with Steve’s eyes across the table, and Steve’s voice on the phone, and Steve’s body in such close proximity to his own during their leisurely pre-bedtime movies. Could he really be expected to remember such mundane details as a fucking _board meeting_ when Steve Rogers was making him pancakes on Saturday mornings?

Tony snagged the flannel shirt Steve had abandoned on the kitchen chair yesterday morning and tugged it on, then made his way through the house to the glass walkway leading to the garage. The heat and light in there perked him up even further, and when it opened into the larger space of the garage, Tony was finally able to do this. The specs were done. They were tight. Perfect. He’d just show them to Ross, have him rubber-stamp them, and get him out before Steve even knew he was here.

Tony unlocked the door and opened it. “Come on in, Thad,” he said, and Ross stepped inside.

“It smells like horses in here.”

“Quite a nose, Thad. It used to be a barn.”

“Don’t call me Thad.”

“Excuse me, _Thaddeus._ Is that what your wife calls you? Thaddeus? Or is she as special as the rest of us, and gets to call you Secretary of State, General Thaddeus Ross? That’d make for some long-ass dinner table conversations.”

Ross’ mouth twisted with disgust. “Will you kindly _not_ mention my wife, and just show me the Quinjet specs? I actually do have another meeting.”

“Sure thing, Thaddeus. FRI? Pull up the Quinjet for me, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And overlay the new specs so Thad here can see the modifications.”

“Will do.”

Ross ignored the bait and allowed Tony to show him the blue-prints. Tony threw them up in the air, making them almost life-size, so they could walk through them and see how they would work for the team. 

Tony talked for thirty minutes, showing him the improvements he’d made to both maneuverability and weaponry. Ross, to his credit, seemed pleased, and Tony was beginning to think maybe he didn’t have to hate ol’ Thunderbolt as much as he wanted to, after all.

“So?” he asked, as he waved his hand and slid it all away. “Are we good to go? I can send these to Fury from here so he can have a peek, then put it into production next week.”

Ross nodded. “It looks good, Stark. It…” He stopped talking, his eyes trained on the door.

Tony turned, heart picking up its pace again. He knew what he would see, and wasn’t disappointed. Or, rather, was exquisitely disappointed. In himself. For not preparing Steve for this eventuality.

He was standing in his old Captain America stance. Big, bold, not giving an inch. His head was high. His face stony. Even in jeans, battered old sneakers, and a simple black sweater, he cut an imposing figure. It helped he’d put a little weight back on. Ten pounds. All solid muscle.

“What are you doing here, Rogers?” Ross asked.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Ross walked toward him. He seemed unmoved by Steve’s posture or his expression. Tony didn’t know whether to be impressed or afraid for Ross’ safety.

“This house contains sensitive, top-secret Avengers-related information. It is essentially an Avengers outpost.” There was a gleam in his eye as Ross spoke, one that was dark and capering. “As per our agreement, you are not allowed in any building that houses Avengers’ material.”

_Oh._

Steve began to close the distance even more. “And as per our agreement,” he said dangerously, “you are to stay away from Tony Stark.”

_Fuck._

“He came to me, _Captain_. Am I supposed to turn away such a talent when it's practically begging to work for me?”

“Hey, I didn’t _beg_ ,” Tony said, and both men looked at him. Ross’ face held that same disdain, but it was Steve’s Tony was more interested in. There was anger there. And worse, betrayal.

“Hey,” Tony said, coming between the two. They were standing close together, but Tony wedged himself in and put his hand on Steve’s chest. “Hey, I didn’t know,” he said, looking up at Steve. “I didn’t know he was supposed to stay away from me. Not when I went to him in the first place.”

Steve’s eyes were back on Ross. Hard and cold as ice. “ _He_ knew,” Steve said. 

“But I didn’t. Steve. _I_ didn’t know. Okay?”

Steve’s eyes finally met Tony’s and they softened. Tony let his thumb caress Steve’s  
throat, right where the cashmere met the skin. It was impossible to say which was softer.

“Oh my god.”

Steve’s eyes flashed again, staring into Ross’. Tony rolled his own in exasperation. He turned around, keeping himself between them. It seemed safest. Not for himself, of course, but for both of the other two men.

“Do you have a problem, General?” Steve asked.

“I had hoped I was misinformed about the nature of your...relationship to this fugitive, Mr. Stark,” Ross said. “It appears I was not.”

“I am _not_ a fugitive,” Steve said. “I served my time.”

“One year,” Ross spat. “You deserved ten. You and your whole merry little band. And that little red-headed witch deserved life. She murdered-”

Steve shoved Tony out of the way and lashed out at Ross. The sound of his fist connecting with Ross’ face was both meaty and sharp. The crunch of his breaking nose was extremely loud.

Tony moaned as Ross staggered back, blood spurting between his fingers, as he clutched his face. 

“Don’t you ever talk about her again!” Steve shouted.

Tony leapt in front of him and shoved him back. “Get in the other room, Steve.”

“Tony, he--”

“I don’t give a fuck. Get out of here.”

Steve backed toward the walk-way. “I’m serious,” he said. “Never talk about her again, Ross. I’ll kill you.”

Tony gave him another shove. “Get _out_.”

Ross had his phone out and was dialing a lot more numbers than 911.

“Ross,” Tony said, trying to control his voice, trying to mitigate this before it could blow up even further. “Thaddeus, please.”

“This is Secretary Ross. I need a police escort for one Steven Grant Rogers. He needs to be taken into custody. He just assaulted me at Tony Stark’s country residence.”

“Ross, for Christ’s sake, stop,” Tony said. “Hang up. Let’s figure this out.”

Ross was nodding, his phone glued to his ear. Blood gushed down his face. “Yes. I’ll stay right here.” He ended the call. Despite his bloody face and severely-canted nose, he looked almost cheerful. “They’re on their way.”

“Why’d you do that?” Tony asked. “You _knew_ he’d react. You pushed him into it.”

“I did no such thing. He’s an animal, Stark. I don’t understand why none of you see that. You, most of all. He tried to kill you, and now I find you two here all cozied up together, playing house. What is wrong with you? Your father would be disgusted.”

Tony exhaled as if Ross had punched him in the gut. “What did you just say?” he gasped, and a mean, diaphanous thought sailed through his head-- _Come hit him again, baby._

“I said Howard would be disgusted by your behavior. He never agreed with your life-choices, but this is beyond anything he ever even considered.”

Tony closed his eyes. Bowed his head. Hatred, clean and unabashed, washed over him. He was sick with it. Delirious with it. “You need to get out of my house,” he said quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere until Rogers is taken out in chains.”

“Then step outside. Wait in your fucking car.”

Ross wiped his upper lip gingerly. “Fine. If you try to leave-”

“Jesus. Just get out.”

Ross pulled his top-coat on and left. Tony sagged against the workbench, his head in his hands. One day? Was that really too much to ask? One fucking day of happiness?

“Tony.”

He looked up. Shook his head. “They’re coming for you.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

“You had to hit him?”

“You heard him. I’m an animal.”

Tony pushed himself off the bench and went to stand in front of Steve. He sighed. “You’re _my_ animal. Aren’t you?”

Steve reached out and touched his fingers shyly. Tony folded them into his own. Steve smiled. “If you still want me to be.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony sighed. “I do.”

“I don’t know how long they’ll keep me this time.”

“I don’t know either.”

Steve lowered his head onto Tony’s shoulder, and Tony cupped the back of his neck. Outside, he heard a car pull up. The sound of voices. 

“Have you got your coat?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m okay.”

“It’s cold out there.”

“I know.”

The door to the garage opened. The sheriff stood there framed in the sun, a dark cut-out against the bright winter morning. “Steven Rogers?”

Steve lifted his head. “That’s me.”

“You need to come with me, son.”

“Okay.”

The sheriff came toward him. He was a big man. Barrel-chested, tall, as big as Steve used to be before the one-two punch of the hospital and The Raft. He took his cuffs off his belt. 

“Am I going to have trouble with you?”

“No, sir.”

Steve held his wrists out, and the sheriff shook his head. “Behind your back, son.”

Steve put his hands obediently behind his back, wrists together, thumbs together, and the sheriff clapped the cuffs on him. 

“You can go tighter if you need to,” Steve said.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re right, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Come on.”

The sheriff steered him away. Tony followed, walking as far as the edge of the door. He was still barefoot. And it was still January.

He watched as Steve was guided away. As the sheriff opened the back door of his cruiser. Ross stood off to one side. He looked rather pleased with the whole situation, watching the show like it was a tent-pole movie premiere and he was the star.

_Fuck the cold,_ Tony thought, and walked to the car, brittle grass breaking under his feet, his breath turning into a frozen mist as it left his mouth. 

“Hey,” he called, and both the sheriff and Steve looked up. Tony had eyes for only one of them. “Hey, you.”

Steve grinned, ducked his head, and grinned some more. He laughed, just a little, no more than a chuckle, but it was all Tony needed. Well, that, and one other thing.

Steve lifted his head and smiled his half-smile. “Fuck you, Stark,” he said. 

_“I love you” in code._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just three more chapters to go! I will try and post the next tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony visits Steve...

“He’s not going back to The Raft,” Tony said. “He’s in a military installation instead. In Jersey.”

“Why’d he do it, man?” Sam asked.

Tony shrugged. “Ross said something about Wanda. Steve didn’t like it.”

Sam shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t like that.” He drank some of his beer. “Why not The Raft? Isn’t that Ross’ thing?”

Tony nodded. They were sitting in a bar in New York. Just a little hole in the wall place where they could talk without being bothered, yet still get pleasantly plowed. Places like that still existed. You just had to know where to look. Sam, Tony found, knew where. It kicked his harmless little crush on him up a notch.

“The army laid some kind of claim on him when they found out. They said Steve was their material way before he was an Avenger, so he belonged to them.”

“Ross must have been pissed.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony agreed. “Nick said he hit the roof. But, technically, they were right, so they’ve got him for now.” He shrugged and peeled a little of the label from his bottle. “It seems like a whole ‘who’s dick is bigger’ kind of thing.”

“Who’s is?”

Tony laughed. “I have no fucking clue.”

“But you’re going to see him tomorrow. That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah. It’s been a month. It’ll be good to see him.”

“Good for him to see you.”

“I hope so.”

“You give him our love. All of us.” 

Sam sat back in the booth, quiet for a moment. Tony had the feeling he was gearing up for something, and he waited. He wanted to hear what he had to say. Not only because of the way he looked when he spoke, either. When Sam spoke, it was for a reason. He wasn’t a bullshit type of guy. He was like Steve that way. Tony admired it. Envied it a little. He, himself, _was_ a bullshit type of guy, and it was always interesting to listen to someone who wasn’t. Also, the looks didn’t hurt.

“You know, those days were hard on him,” Sam said finally.

“The Raft?” Tony asked, and Sam shook his head.

“No, man. Those _other_ days.”

“Oh. _Those_ days.”

“I think that’s when his depression really set in.”

Tony glanced up at him and Sam flapped a hand. “Of _course_ I know he’s depressed, Tony. I worked with vets for a long time. I know the signs.”

Tony took a sip of his beer. He’d been nursing this one for an hour and it was starting to lose some of its appeal. He’d barely had anything since Malibu, but he kept drinking. He _needed_ to keep drinking. Especially if they were going to talk about this.

Finally, he looked at Sam squarely. Sam raised an expectant eyebrow. “What was it like?” Tony asked. “Steve and I don’t talk about it much, and Nat is vague. I think she wants to spare my feelings. But you can tell me, Sam. Please.”

Sam considered him over his own beer, drank deeply, then sat it down. “They were rough,” he said. “We lived rough. We fought hard. We were dirty, poor, hungry, tired.” He ran a hand over his lips, his eyes far away, thinking. “We weren’t together all the time, and that was hard on Steve. No matter what we were doing, or how bad off we were, it was always better when we were together, but sometimes we had to split up. That’s when the cracks would show. That’s when he’d withdraw. When it was quiet at night.”

Sam sighed unconsciously. “He’d pace sometimes,” he said. “Have you ever been to the zoo and seen the way the tigers pace in front of the bars?” Tony nodded. “That’s what he reminded me of. A tiger in a cage.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I’ve thought that, too.”

Sam tipped his bottle toward him in agreement. “He always felt responsible. For me, for Nat, for Wanda. She looked up to him--we all did--but for her--”

“Like a father.”

“That’s right,” Sam said, then he nodded at Tony. “And he missed you.”

Tony drew in a breath. This was what he wanted to hear most of all. He was ashamed of it, but there it was. He was a narcissist at heart. And a masochist. “Really?” he urged.

Sam nodded again, and Tony got the distinct impression Sam knew exactly what he was feeling. His dark eyes were kind, but there was also a touch of amusement in them. Tony hated him a little, but felt his stomach flutter, too. _This guy…_

“Of course, he did,” Sam said. “He didn’t talk about you much, but sometimes we’d see something, and he’d say, ‘Tony should see that.’ Or we’d need something, and he’d get frustrated and say ‘God, if Tony was here…’” He shrugged. “He thought about you a lot.”

“I thought about him too.”

Sam eyed him speculatively. “Can I ask--were you two, you know, _together_ before we were gone? Steve never said, and Nat was kind of closed-mouthed about it, like she knew, but didn’t really want to say, and frankly, the two of you were always either shooting daggers or ‘fuck me’ eyes at each other, so I could never really tell.”

Tony laughed. That was a scarily apt assessment, but not an easily-answerable question. Because, _had_ they? True, there had been no touching aside from Steve’s clandestine handhold, and the occasional brush of shoulders as they sat next to each other or slight touch of their fingers when passing something back and forth either in briefings or at the dinner-table, but _had_ they? There had been _something_ between them, something basic and greedy and hot that always put both of them on edge when they were together. Or when they were apart. Sometimes all it took was the mere mention of Steve’s name to throw Tony off balance. And then there had been the post- and sometimes pre-battle jerk-off sessions he indulged in so frequently. How many times had he wished Steve was there with him, gripping him, stroking him, getting on his knees in front of him, or just throwing him down and pounding into him until they both came so hard they’d see stars?

Lots.

That was the answer.

Lots.

But it hadn’t all been physical thoughts, either. Tony just liked being with him. When he wasn’t being a gruff, militaristic asshole, Steve was funny, and patient, and sweet. Being with him some nights had been like a balm on a wound. Listening to him talk had felt like a gift, and when those eyes had fallen on him, and he smiled, Tony had felt like he was floating. Even at the start, when they’d said they hated each other, one look from Steve, and he was better. One look, and whatever was broken inside him at the time, felt healed.

Tony smiled now, thinking about it. “Not technically,” he said. “But _actually_?” He sighed and shrugged. “I’ve been his for years. Since we met.”

Sam nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

Tony fixed him with a stern gaze. “That stays here, Sam, ‘kay? If Pepper ever found out I said that--”

Sam shook his head and gestured vaguely with his bottle. “Nah, nah, nah. It’s between us. She’ll never hear it from me.”

Tony nodded. He believed him. He didn’t believe a lot of people, but he believed him. 

“But why does Secretary Ross have it in for him?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he   
could tell, too. Apparently, he has an issue with the gay-thing.”

Sam laughed. “You crack me up.”

“What?”

“Steve’s not gay, or straight, or anything else.”

“What is he then?”

“He’s just a romantic. He falls for the person, not the accessories.”

Tony laughed. Once again, Sam was scarily apt.

“And he doesn’t like bullies,” Sam went on. “And that’s what Ross is, a big, fucking bully.”

“He called Steve an animal.”

Sam shook his head. “I know we were just saying he was like a tiger in a cage, but he’s not an animal. He’s human. He might be the most human out of all of us. Maybe all of us combined. Maybe that’s why Ross hates him so much.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause they keep knocking him down, and he just keeps coming back. Isn’t that what we do? What we’re supposed to do, anyway? Isn’t that the way God designed us?”

Tony grunted. “I don’t know _what_ god had in mind. Or whoever. But that’s the way _Erskine_ designed him.”

Sam shook his head. “You know better than that. Erskine didn’t design Steve. He enhanced him, maybe, but he didn’t design him. Somebody else did that.”

“You’re telling me I should take Steve Rogers as proof of god?”

Sam gave him a quizzical look. “Don’t you?”

Tony thought it over carefully, stripping the label bit by bit from his bottle. Sam watched him think, waiting patiently for an answer. And he expected one, that was clear. This wasn’t rhetorical. Sam wasn’t a rhetorical kind of guy, either, and that was _also_ like Steve. A question asked, deserved an answer. No matter how esoteric it may be.

“I take him as proof of the human spirit,” Tony said finally. “How’s that?”

Sam considered, then nodded. “I’ll take it. It’s almost the same thing anyway.” He raised his hand to the waitress for another round. Tony shook his head.

_This guy…_

When they left the bar, Tony was feeling okay, so he turned down Sam’s offer of a ride, and started walking. He hated walking. Walking was the worst, but sometimes the body just wanted to move, didn’t it? And since his sparring partner was currently behind bars, he walked.

It was still cold. Mid-February was always a sodden, frozen bitch of a time in New York, but under the cold, existing just beneath the surface, was the promise of spring. It would be here soon. It’s rampant, verdant, green energy revitalizing everything. He’d missed it last year. He had been here, but had spent most of March holed up at home trying to rid himself of February. And then he’d given up. Given up on Steve, given up on himself, given up on _them_ and any kind of future together. He’d deactivated Steve’s access code, and then he’d hibernated for two weeks. When he emerged, it was April, and the promise of spring had become the reality of it.

Steve had been in prison then. He was in prison now. The more things change, the more they stayed the same. Tony wasn’t sure he’d really understood that phrase until now. And that was fine. He hated it. It was a stupid phrase. And things _weren’t_ the same. He and Steve were together again. Even if they were together _apart_ , they were still together. He hoped Steve would keep that in mind while he was locked away. Like a tiger in a cage. _His_ tiger.

Tony went back to the Tower and rode the elevator up. He was only here for a few days. Just so he could see Steve. Other than that, he still lived at home. And he’d keep living there, because that was where Steve wanted to be. He loved that place, and Tony was determined to have him back there as quickly as possible. Back home, and back in his bed where he belonged. The loft was okay, but Tony wanted Steve with him.

To that end, he walked down the hall, but stopped short of his own bedroom door. He opened the one that used to be Steve’s, and now was no one’s, but it was the last place in the Tower they had been together. The last place where they had made actual, physical love together, and Tony wanted to keep that memory with him, keep it close to him, to give him strength until tomorrow when he would see Steve in the flesh again.

He stripped his clothes off and got into bed. It was a spartan room. Tony had tried the TV last night, and it didn’t even work anymore. _Who cares?_ he thought, and bundled the blankets around himself, trying to approximate the feeling of a soft super-soldier behind him, but he couldn’t do it. Perhaps it was the lack of breath at the back of his neck, or maybe just his scent, but either way, Tony was alone and he knew it.

But he’d see Steve tomorrow. Ten a.m. Bright and early.

The thought of Jersey had never been so nice.

\---

  
“You may not pass him anything or accept anything he may try to pass to you. No physical contact is permitted. You must be quiet and respectful at all times. If you break any of these rules, you will be asked to leave, and you may not return. Do you understand?”

Tony nodded. “Yes...sir?”

The guard, a kid of maybe twenty-one, flushed under his uniform cap. “It’s not necessary for you to call me ‘sir’, Mr. Stark,” he said.

“Oh. Okay. Do _they_ call you sir?”

“‘They’?”

“Yeah, the prisoners?”

The kid nodded curtly. “Yes, sir. The inmates call me sir, but may not salute. If they salute, they’re put in the hole for a week.”

“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? I thought you guys were all about the saluting.”

“No, sir, it isn’t harsh at all. A salute is a show of respect. The inmates have broken the law and have lost that privilege.”

“Wow,” Tony muttered. “Pretty serious business.”

“Yes, sir. Have a seat. Inmate 12439 will be right out.”

Tony sat down at the small table and looked around the room. Most of the tables were occupied, the prisoners conspicuous in their tan khaki prison jump-suits, blotches of boring against their visitors’ more colorful attire. Tony hadn’t been sure what to wear, and had settled on jeans and a plain black Henley. He’d been forced to strip off his watch--a Rolex Daytona that had set him back $75,000--and leave it, his keys to the ‘Cuda, and his wallet at the guard station. They had then searched him, and asked intimate, probing questions about the arc reactor for twenty minutes before they finally decided it was alright and he could go in. That made him late. Thirty damn minutes late. Tony prayed they had told Steve. That he didn’t just think Tony had been late on purpose, or worse, that he’d decided not to show. He couldn’t stand the thought of that. Of the look on Steve’s face while he waited and waited and no one came. Tony vowed to write a strongly-worded letter to the prison commissioner about the efficacy of their visitors’ policies.

Tony fidgeted as he watched the other inmates with their families. They were mostly men, the visitors mostly women. Their wives, Tony assumed, or maybe their sisters. There were a few who could only be mothers, women with tears on their faces and hands that reached out to touch a pale cheek, but caught themselves at the last moment and quickly pulled back.

There were a few children, as well. The rule seemed to be relaxed for the kids because they were climbing over their dads’ laps, fussing on the floor, being passed from one parent to the other. Tony couldn’t help but smile at a solemn little blonde drawing a picture at the next table. She turned it so he could see, and Tony gave her a silent thumbs-up. She nodded once with a formal dignity, then went back to her crayons.

“Making friends?”

Tony stood up, eating him up with his eyes. “Everywhere I go, baby,” he said.

Steve grinned at him.

Tony took an abortive step toward him, then raised his hands helplessly. “I can’t...I’m not supposed to--”

“I know,” Steve assured him. “It’s okay.”

“The fuck it is,” he said, then looked down at the little blonde. Her eyes were wide, round with surprise. _Sorry,_ Tony mouthed, then made a locking motion against his lips. She nodded at him again, and went back to her picture.

Steve was smiling sadly at him when he turned back.

“What?” Tony said.

Steve shook his head. “Nothing. I just don’t see you with kids much. It’s nice. You’re good with them.”

“Yeah, for about ten seconds. Until the snot and the poop and the sticky hands come into play. Then, I’m out.”

Steve just sighed. “Do you wanna sit down?”

“Sure.”

They sat down across from each other. Tony’s hands itched to take Steve’s over the table-top, but he didn’t. It was too risky. “So?” he said. “How is it? How are you getting along?”

“Okay, I guess. It’s pretty quiet most of the time, and I get to go outside a little, so it’s not so bad. Not as bad as...you know...the other one.”

Tony nodded. “I know.”

“They put me on suicide-watch when I came in,” Steve said.

“Why?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s just my history, or if they do that with everyone.”

“They probably do that to everybody.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to be singled out.”

“ _I_ singled you out.”

Steve smiled shyly. “I like it when you do it,” he said. Tony felt a slight pressure against his ankle, there and then gone.

“You’re a bad boy, Steve Rogers,” he said, softly.

“The worst.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Steve looked down at his clasped hands. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“Sorry about that.” He tapped the reactor. “It’s this. They were worried about it, I guess. I mean, it’s not like everyone and their goddamn dog doesn’t know I have it, and I _told_ them about it over the phone, and still.” He shook his head. “Bureaucratic bullshit.”

“I don’t mean just this morning,” Steve said. “All week. Since they told me you were coming, I was afraid you’d change your mind.”

“That would never happen.”

Steve brought his thumb up to his mouth and chewed. He still hadn’t lost the habit even though his nail was practically non-existent by now. Tony so wanted to take his hand and hold it. If he was holding it, Steve wouldn’t be able to chew on it. Tony could kiss it instead. Try and take the hurt away his way.

“Baby?”

“I know I shouldn’t have hit him,” Steve said, still gnawing at his nail. “It wasn’t what he said--” he looked at Tony, just a glance, then he put his head in his hand, rubbing at his temples. “I mean, it _was_ what he said, but when I saw him, there was like this light pulsing behind my eyes, and it was like before. When they took me away before. I felt mixed up like I did then. For a second, I didn’t know where I was.”

Tony watched him while he spoke, watched his fingers slowly kneading his head, watched his mouth move, the way his other hand scratched his elbow. The prison jump-suit fit him fine, but he seemed to shrink inside it. His hair, clipped short, but clean, shone with its own inner-light again. At least he got outside a little here. The sun was doing him good. But that didn’t alleviate Tony’s worry over what he was saying. He knew there were drugs in the prison system, but not at The Raft. And Steve had been with him for a month after that. He had barely left Tony’s side. There was no way he could have gotten any even if Tony believed he’d been taking them before. And he didn’t. Because Steve said he hadn’t. And Steve wouldn’t lie.

“What are you saying?” Tony asked.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. It’s not an excuse. I’m not excusing what I did, I’m just telling you what happened.”

“A light?”

“Yeah. Pulsing. Flashing on and off.” He rubbed his face, then tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter, Tony. I’m in here. This is where they want me. I think...this is where they’ve always wanted me. Once I did what they needed me to do.” He laughed a little. It wasn’t hard or cynical. It was just laughter. “I’ve been put out to pasture. You know? I guess I’m lucky they didn’t just shoot me. Or...you know...put me back. In the ice.” His face started to crack, the veneer of happiness he’d tried to put on for Tony’s benefit, slowly crumbling. “I thought that was what they’d do. Maybe it still is. Maybe-maybe that’s the-the endgame.”

Steve stopped talking, and dropped his head into his hands again. He was holding on, but just barely. Tony could see that, and it was only the knowledge that he’d never be able to come back that stopped him from simply gathering Steve up in his arms. Instead, he clenched his hands together in a tight fist. His knuckles turned white immediately with the force of it.

“Hey,” he whispered, vehemently. “Baby, _nobody_ is going to put you back in the ice. Do you hear me? Nobody. I will never let that happen. Alright? And you’re getting out of here. You’re coming home. If I have to blast you out of here myself, you’re coming home. Okay? Baby? Okay?”

Steve sniffed back tears. He was hardly the only person crying in the room, but to Tony’s eye, he looked the most miserable. And he came by it honestly. What had these other tearful soldiers done? Gotten drunk on duty? Beat somebody up? Ran from their post in the middle of the night? Steve had saved the world. But here he still was. Locked up behind the same bars as these petty thieves and unlucky gamblers. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. For a moment, Tony wished Thaddeus Ross was here. Tony would punch him in the face himself. Or put _him_ in the ice. See how he liked it.

“Come on, baby,” Tony pleaded. “Please?”

Steve finally lifted his head. His eyes still swam, but he was trying to smile again. That was his guy. That was his best guy, always trying. Always trying to look on the bright side. No matter how dark it was.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to do that today. I wanted this to be a good day. I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“You didn’t,” Tony said. “It _is_ a good day. Every day I get to see you is a good day.”

“I love you,” Steve said. “I didn’t say that enough before. I know that. But I do, Tony. I love you. More than anything.”

Tony felt a lump growing in his own throat and swallowed past it. He smiled. “You’d better say you love me, soldier. Or I’ll feed all your Pop Tarts to that damn squirrel you love so much.”

Steve swiped a hand over his eyes. “I ate the last one, so you’re too late.”

“I’ll buy you some more.”

Steve’s eyes shifted to the little blonde at the next table. She had put away her crayons, and was now looking at a picture book. There was a little red cup of Cheerios beside her. “You should find somebody else, Tony,” he said, his eyes still on the girl. “Get married. Have a family. It’s not too late for that.”

“ _You’re_ my family.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Knock it off,” Tony said lightly. “I told you before, baby, it’s you and me. Okay? It’s always going to be you and me.” Tony nudged Steve’s ankle strategically under the table. “So quit trying to make me change my mind. Right? Seems like I've told you this before."

Steve smiled, and the day seemed immensely, immediately brighter. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too. You jerk.”  
  
“Will you really buy me my Pop Tarts?”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“Just the Pop Tarts, Tony.”

\---

The light. That’s what wouldn’t leave his head. The goddamn light Steve had mentioned. It had just been one thing, so why did it seem like _everything?_

Tony roamed around the Tower the whole next day, thinking, trying to figure out what it was about the light pulsing behind Steve’s eyes that meant so much. As much as he liked to be an expert on pretty much anything he set his mind to, the mysteries of the human psyche would always remain that-- a mystery to him. Give him an engine and he could take it apart and put it back together in record time, but the mind? Forget it. He needed help.

He wanted to ask Bruce. He so, so wanted to ask Bruce. But Natasha had went on a mission, and he had taken the two weeks to go to Tibet. He went there occasionally. He said the atmosphere helped keep him calm. He and the other guy were on pretty good terms lately. This was one of their compromises. Two weeks in Tibet at a monastery for Bruce, two weeks off-world with Thor for Hulk, where there were enough beasties and baddies to fight to make even _him_ happy.

By the next morning, Tony knew what he had to do. The fact that he had actually known about two minutes after Steve told him about the light, and he just suppressed it, pissed him off. But he’d do it. For Steve, he’d do it.

Tony got dressed. He put on a suit. Armani, gray, impeccable, and black wing-tips that might have looked old-fashioned on someone else, but on him, looked amazing, if he did say so himself. He knotted his tie in a double-windsor, and left. He hated himself a little for dressing up, but if he was going to grovel, he might as well do it with style.

He got to Bleecker street at ten a.m. and knocked on 177A at 10:20. He spent the twenty minutes alternately meditating and screaming internally. He didn’t want to do this. He had to do this. Fuck you, Stephen Strange. I need you, Doctor.

Finally, he just rang the bell. Before he could stop himself, he just rang the bell.

The door opened. “Hi, I--oh.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. His heart dropped. For one of the few instances in his life, he was rendered utterly speechless.

“Tony.” Her face was anxious, her eyes wide and concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Pep, did they bring the everything-bagels? Oh. Tony.”

The three of them stood looking at each other. Tony on the stoop, Pepper and Strange in the doorway. The moment stretched like taffy until Pepper regained herself. She reached out and took hold of his coat. “Come inside, Tony,” she said. “If we’re going to be awkward and silent, let’s at least do it out of the cold. You know your immune system gets low this time of year.”

Tony let himself get pulled inside the door. He was still speechless. A thousand thoughts and questions whirled in his head. He couldn’t pick one. They all seemed just beyond his grasp.

“Well,” Strange said, once the door was safely closed behind them. He didn’t say anything else.

Pepper nodded. “Yes. Well.” She didn’t say anything else either.

Tony struggled, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. For a moment, he thought he might have chased his still-long-gone shoe down some freaky rabbit-hole where up was down and down was up and Pepper was wearing Stephen Strange’s t-shirt because of...some reason Tony still couldn’t grasp yet. Then he wondered if Stange had put some kind of hex on him. He was like a witch, right? Maybe he and Lord Voldemort hung out on the reg and he had spelled Tony into just _thinking_ he was seeing Pepper here in gray sweat pants and an ill-fitting t-shirt with no make-up and her red hair in a simple ponytail just to fuck with him. Strange would do something like that. Of course, he would.

But as much as he wanted to make it fly, none of the scenarios worked out. This was Strange’s Sanctum. Pepper was here-willingly and comfortably. Tony was here-reluctantly and rather _un_ comfortably, thank you very much.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “My head hurts,” he muttered.

Pepper turned to Strange and laid her hand on his arm. “Stephen, would you…?”

He nodded. “Yes. If the deli guy comes--”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He slipped his arm around her waist, squeezed, then left them alone.

Tony felt like throwing up.

Pepper folded her arms. “I don’t want to hear it, Tony,” she said.

Tony slanted a finger across his lips. Whether it was to keep her from speaking or himself from vomiting, he didn’t know.

“Tony.”

“Mm.” He shook his head. “No. Nope. This is...no.”

“You _don’t_ get to have an opinion about this,” she said. “It’s really none of your business.”

And that unlocked the floodgates. Knowing he shouldn’t have an opinion, gave him a lot of opinions. A mountain of opinions, a fucking avalanche of opinions. “Oh, Pepper, _why_?” he moaned, dramatically. “What the hell? He’s a total douchebag!”

“He is not a--”

“Yes he is, honey, he’s a _total_ douchebag.”

“He’s smart. He’s charming. He’s _stable_ ,” she said, ticking the responses off her red-painted nails. “And he happens to be very sexy.”

Tony made a sudden gagging noise. “Sexy? Oh-oh my god, Pepper, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“You’re _gross_.”

“ _I’m_ gross? _He’s_ gross!”

“You are acting like a child.”

He grasped her upper arm. “Honey, honey, please tell me you’re not sleeping together.”

She yanked her arm away. “None of your business, Tony,” she flared.

“Oh, no, actually it _is_ my business, because you _run_ my business.”

Her eyes grew dark. He remembered that look. It was a dangerous look. “I run our business, Tony. And that has nothing to do with this.”

“How did you two even--” he stopped, a sick look on his face. “Please don’t tell me the Gala.”

She shrugged lightly. “I gave him my number.”

Tony made that retching noise again in his throat. 

“I told you I thought he was charming.”

“Gross,” Tony mumbled.

“Why are you here if you hate him so much?” she asked.

Tony thought about it. Why _was_ he here? There seemed to be no answer in his head. Nothing at all in his head except the thought of Pepper and old insect-boy all over each other in some sex dungeon. Because this place had a sex dungeon. Look at it. Of fucking course it did.

There was a knock on the door behind them, and Pepper smoothed her ponytail. “That’s the deli. Wait here. Don’t touch anything.”

She walked to the door and Tony salt sulkily down on the stairs. He’d only been here once before. The decor was the same. Mid-eighth-century freak show. Nothing like the Tower with its sleek, smooth, modern style, or the cabin with--oh. 

_Steve_.

Tony jumped to his feet and ran to the door. “Hey Pepper. Pepper. Pep,” he chanted, tugging her arm.

“Do you mind?” she snapped.

The deli guy pointed at him. “Hey, you’re Iron Man!”

“Sure am, kid.”

“Cool! Can I get a picture?”

Pepper groaned. “Oh my god.”

“Of course, you can,” Tony said, and the kid shoved the deli bag at Pepper and dug his phone out of his pocket. 

Tony looped his arm around the kid’s neck, then took the phone and handed it to Pepper. She eyed him angrily. He shrugged. “Pep, honey, will you?”

She snapped a picture.

“Hey, thanks. This is awesome.”

“Sure, sure, sure, kid,” Tony said. “Uh, Doctor Strange is here too. Do you want his picture?”

“Tony,” Pepper said evenly.

“Who’s Doctor Strange?”

Tony smiled. Balance was restored. He took his wallet out of his pocket. “Here, kid,” he said, pawing through it. 

“No way,” he objected. “Nobody said this was for Iron Man. It’s on the house, dude. My boss would kill me if he knew I charged _Iron Man_.”

Tony handed the kid a twenty. “At least take this for yourself.”

“Aw, man,” the kid wailed. “I can’t.”

“Tell you what,” Tony said, then made a writing motion in the air. “Pep, do you have a--?”

“I am not your assistant anymore, Tony.”

“I do,” the kid offered eagerly, and dug in his pocket again.

“Perfect.” Tony signed the twenty with a flourish and gave it to the kid. “There. Now you’re not accepting money, you just got an autograph. How’s that?”

The kid held the twenty in his palm like it was the Holy Grail. “Thanks, Iron Man. Damn. Thanks. I was gonna call in sick today.”

Tony winked. “Keep walking that straight line, kid.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”

Tony closed the door, turned to Pepper, and spread his arms. “Come on,” he said.

“I hate you.”

He put his arm around her. “You don’t hate me,” he soothed. “How can you hate me? I got you free bagels.”

“And you got your ego stroked. It was an even trade.”

“I do love to be stroked,” he said, and she smiled. He knew she would.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I need something.”

“There’s not another...monster, is there?”

He patted her arm. “No, honey. But, I need to talk to your,” Tony swallowed, “ _friend_.”

“About what?”

“About my... _friend_.”

She didn’t bat an eye, just frowned. “Is he okay?” she asked. Tony worshipped her in that moment.

“No.”

Pepper nodded almost imperceptibly, laid her cool hand against his cheek, then called, “Stephen? Will you come here, please?”

Strange came down the hall. He had been waiting at the ready for her call. It made Tony dislike him a little less. Pepper deserved someone who came when she called. Tony hadn’t always done that.

“Is everything alright?”

“No,” Pepper said, pulling away from Tony’s side and going to Strange’s. “Tony says there’s something wrong with Steve Rogers.”

Strange looked at him sharply. “What’s wrong with Steve? He left The Raft. I thought he was with you?”

“He was. For a month. Then Ross came to the house, and there was an...incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Steve broke Ross’ nose and now he’s in military prison in New Jersey,” Tony said. The words slid out of his mouth on their own. He didn’t think about them. They just came. There was no point in trying to down-play what had happened. He was walking that straight line, too. At least for the moment.

“Oh no,” Pepper breathed, and Strange put her arm around her thin waist. 

“Yeah,” Tony agreed.

“What do you need from me?” Strange asked. “A character reference? Medical records? What does he need? I’ll do what I can for him.”

Tony groaned, suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of dumb gratitude toward the arrogant prick he actually really did dislike. It was an uneasy cocktail, but he’d ordered it. He had to drink it. 

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for my friends,” Tony said with as much stolid grace as he could muster.

Strange followed Tony’s gaze to Pepper’s face. He brushed her hair back behind her ear. “They’re my friends, too. But, you’re welcome.”

“That doesn’t mean _we_ have to--” Tony said, gesturing between the two of them.

“No. God, no,” Strange said.

“Good,” Tony sighed, relieved.

“What can I do for Steve?”

“Maybe nothing. I don’t know. He said something when I went to visit and I thought it was weird.”

“What was it?”

“He said when he hit Ross it was like there was a light behind his eyes.”

“A light?”

“Pulsing,” Tony agreed. “Flashing off and on, he said. Does that mean anything to you?”

Strange bowed his head, thinking. Tony and Pepper exchanged a look. Tony mouthed the words “Thank you”. She mouthed “You’re welcome” back. His love for her was boundless. It always would be. But he was glad they weren’t together anymore. Who would have taken care of Steve if not for him? The team would have rallied around him, but that wasn’t the same thing. A team is great, but a partner is heaven. Especially if it’s the right partner.

“I have some ideas,” Strange said, at last. “Let me look into them. When do you see Steve again?”

“Saturday.”

“I should have something by then. If there’s anything to have, that is.”

“Thanks,” Tony said. “Call me, or come over, or whatever. Pepper’s access code will get you in. I’ll tell FRIDAY.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Do you want to stay for brunch, Tony?” Pepper asked.

He shook his head. The thought of that sex dungeon was still in his head. “Uh, no. No, thanks. I’ll see you later.”

Pepper threaded her arm through his and walked him the door. “I am sorry about Steve,” she said, fixing his tie. “He’s not my favorite person, but that doesn’t mean I want him to hurt.”

“That’s because you’re an angel.”

She sighed. “And who’s taking care of you during all this?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve gotten a lot more self-reliant,” he said. “Are you proud?”

“I always was, Tony.”

He kissed her cheek. Screw the moratorium. “I love you, Miss Potts.”

She gave him her own version of Steve;s half-smile. It was achingly familiar and the best thing he’d seen all day. “I love you, too, Tony.”

He left, got into the car, and drove away. On the way to the Tower, he stopped for a cheeseburger. He didn’t think about sex dungeons at all while he ate. Not much, anyway.

  
Strange called him on Friday and told him he was working on something but still had nothing concrete yet.

“ _Is_ it something, Strange?” Tony asked. “Or are you blowing smoke up my ass?”

“It might be. But don’t tell Steve. I don’t want him getting upset if it turns out to be nothing.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stephen. I know how to play them close.”

“Do you? I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed that.”

“You have,” Tony assured him. “You just didn’t know it.”

“Interesting,” Strange said, and hung up.

Tony left for the prison half an hour early just in case. He was glad he did. A repeat of last week’s arc reactor chat-fest happened. He knew it would. Part of him vaguely wondered if this was the army’s way of just getting info for their own purposes, and decided he was done talking. Next week he’d tell them to fuck off. He was on tape now. Two thirty-minute sessions. They could watch those when they had a hard-on for Stark tech. He was done whoring it out for free.

He sat at the same table, but his cute little girlfriend was absent. Shame, really, he felt like they’d bonded. Then the door buzzed, he looked up, and all thought was driven out of his head. 

Tony stood. “What happened to you?”

Steve came toward him. He was limping. He had almost shaken the limp, but it was back now. With avengence, so to speak. His right arm was in a cast to the elbow, held close against his body in a sling to keep it from moving and disturbing the bone as it healed. A gash ran up the side of his face and reached into his hairline. Ugly black stitches held the wound together. 

“Hey,” Steve said, completely ignoring the question. “Hey, Tony. God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Tony reached for him and Steve stepped out of his reach. “No. No touching, remember?”

“Fuck that,” Tony said. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Steve scoffed. “It was just a misunderstanding. It’s fine. I’m fine. How are you?”

“A misunderstanding? Between you and what? A fucking Mack truck? What. Happened?”

Steve laughed. “Sit down, okay? It’s nothing. I’m healing fine. The nurses say I’ll be better in a few days.”

“Who’s in charge?” Tony asked, glancing around. “I need to talk to the boss, the warden, whoever the fuck--”

“Tony,” Steve said sharply. “Sit _down_.”

Tony knew a command when he heard it. Especially when it came from that mouth. He’d heard enough of them over the years. And if he was being honest with himself, it sounded almost good. Like old times. Iron Man and Captain America instead of Tony and Steve. It was almost nostalgic. Like hearing a song on the radio that took him back to a different time A time when he was a different person. He didn’t want to go back there, but it was nice to remember what it was like, if only for a moment. What they had been like. It made him appreciate today all the more.

He sat down. “What happened?” he said. He tried very hard to say it calmly. A couple people had glanced their way when Steve first came in, but now they went back to their own visits. That was good. He didn’t want to disrupt anyone else. If they were anything like him, they had been looking forward to it for the last two weeks. He took a deep breath and Steve watched him, his eyes a heavy weight, watching to make sure Tony was going to stay calm. “Are you okay?” he asked, and Steve smiled approvingly. 

“It really wasn’t anything,” Steve answered. “I heard some guys picking on another guy and I stepped in.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”

Tony closed his eyes. Only Steve. Only Steve would consider a beat-down over a bully no big deal. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Not bad. They broke my arm in four places.” He touched his head. “This’ll be healed tomorrow.” He grinned and lowered his head, looking up at Tony through his lashes, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “They, uh, dislocated my hip. So, I guess I really am an old man now, huh? Once the hips go, everything goes, right?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. _It’s not funny_ , he thought. _Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh…_

He laughed. “You are not funny.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t an idiot. You can laugh at idiots without consequence.”

Steve smiled like a cat that had gotten into the cream, total satisfaction on his face. He put his head in his one unhurt hand. “I miss that.”

“What?”

“You. The things you say. I like listening to you.”

“That’s not fair,” Tony said. He was suddenly very warm and very aware that this was not only a _prison_ , but a very public place. There were _kids_ here, for god’s sake. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Like what?” Steve asked in the same sweet tone. His eyes were soft but very present. His foot pressed against Tony’s. 

“Like _that_.”

“Can I tell you how beautiful you are? Is that alright?”

Tony glanced around the room. No one was watching them, but he felt flustered. He didn’t mind being looked at, but the thought of getting a raging erection in such a public setting was...maybe more of a turn-on than he had previously imagined. 

He closed his eyes, willing his body to cooperate and calm down. If only he could get Steve to do the same. “No,” he said evenly. “That’s _not_ alright. That would be the opposite of alright.”

“I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

His foot moved against Tony’s ankle. How could that be erotic? That should not be erotic.

“Stop talking.”

“You talk then,” Steve urged. “Tell me what we’ll do when I get out of here.”

“No.”

“Since when are _you_ shy?”

“I’m not shy,” Tony protested. His mouth was dry. He was hard. His face flamed. “I’m just not sure I want to get off in front of a whole room full of people. Even _I’m_ not that much of an exhibitionist.”

“Do you think you could, though?” Steve asked. “Do you think I could get you off right here? Right now?”

“Steve. Don’t.”

Steve smiled softly, and sighed like he was giving up. “Fine,” he said. “But later, okay? When I get home?”

Tony pressed his foot solidly against Steve’s wishing desperately that he could take his hand instead, or climb into his lap and cuddle him. He’d never gotten the chance to sit in Steve’s lap since they’d been together. He just realized that. Before they were an item, he had occasionally thrown himself down on top of him. Just to get a reaction, of course. Just to see him nervous, to see that pretty red blush heat up his cheeks and darken his eyes. But now that he was technically _allowed_ to do it, he hadn’t had the chance. First, Steve was too broken by Thanos, and then he’d been taken to The Raft. Then had come the uneasy in-between-time where neither of them dared indulge in anything physical, and now Steve was _here_. It wasn’t fair, Tony decided, and added a good, old-fashioned lap-sitting to his list of things he was going to do when he got Steve home. The list was growing at an alarming rate. And Steve had just added to it, too.

But all that was for later. Right now, Steve was here. _They_ were here. They were together. Steve was looking at him and being his sweet self, love shining out of his eyes like concentrated starlight, all directed at Tony. He wondered--again--how in the name of _Christ_ he had gotten so lucky. It was a funny thought, considering where they were currently sitting, but it was there, all the same.

“Yes,” he answered. “When you get home.”

“As soon as I get home. Okay?”

“The second.”

Steve smiled and looked down at his hand. “It’s lonely in here. At least in the...other one there was no prospect of seeing anyone. I was alone. I knew it. That was part of the deal I made and I was able to prepare myself for that. But here.”

“What?”

“There’s people around all the time, but there’s nobody really to talk to. It’s like when I was a kid. I’m kind of the odd man out.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it is,” he said quietly. “And it’s okay. I can handle it. It’s just harder. I was scared when I was in the other place. I was scared all the time, but I wasn’t lonely. It’s different here.”

The simplicity of those words were like a heavy boot crushing Tony’s heart into dust. He looked around at the other inmates. They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Steve Rogers. After Thanos, half of them were gone. Which ones were dust a couple years ago? Which of the wives? Which _children_? They should be carrying Steve around on their shoulders praising his name every minute of every day. What were they doing instead? Nothing. Ignoring him. Making him feel bad. Beating him up, for god’s sake. _He saved you!_ Tony wanted to shout. _He was a god who brought down a titan, how dare you? How fucking dare you?_

Instead, he fixed Steve with his eyes. “I’m working on something, baby,” he said. “I am going to get you out of here. Get you home. Okay?”

“I know you will.”

“It won’t be long. Just hold on, okay? I know it’s hard. I wish I could make it easier, but just hold on.”

Steve nodded. “I’m trying, Tony. I’m just getting tired. You know?”

“Just a little longer, okay?”

Steve cast his eyes downward and chewed his lip.

“Is there something else on your mind?” Tony asked.

“Are we going to stay at the cabin, Tony?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I do. I really do. But Ross was right. I’m not really allowed. I should have thought of that. This whole thing was all my fault.”

Tony let out a frustrated breath and leaned forward. “All your fault, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Cause he didn’t push you, at all.”

Steve leaned back in his seat and looked at the ceiling. Tony could only see the bottom curve of his eyes, but he could see they were too shiny, too wet. “Yeah. He did. And I took the bait.” He laughed bitterly. “I used to be in control. Remember that, Tony? Remember how I used to be?”

Tony sighed. “Oh yeah, I remember that guy,” he said. “He was brutally hot.” Steve looked back at him. Tony shrugged. “But he was kind of a dick.”

Steve smiled. It was enigmatic, that smile, unlike any Tony had ever seen on his face. “Was he?” he asked.

Tony nodded. “Yes. He was.”

A hot, devilish little gleam appeared in Steve’s eye. With that smile, the look was nearly more than Tony could take. “Did you wanna punish him, Tony?” he asked darkly. “Give him a good spanking?”

“What has gotten into you?” Tony asked. He didn’t know whether he felt more exasperated or turned on. It was sixes, really. He’d be leaving here frustrated no matter what.

“I told you,” Steve said. “I’m lonely. And horny. And it doesn’t help that you come in here looking like you do, and talking like you do. I already jerked off once today. I’m going to have to go three more times after you leave just to feel normal again.”

“Umm...thank you…?”

Steve sighed, looking at Tony steadily. “Four. Definitely four.”

“You _are_ bad, Rogers.” 

Steve eyed him hotly, making him squirm in his seat. “It’s been a long time, Tony. Since we were together. For real.”

“That’s not my fault,” Tony protested softly. “You’re the one who didn’t want to.”

Steve smiled his half-smile. “I wanted to. I _really_ wanted to. I was trying to be good. Guess we can see where being good got me.”

“I don’t know,” Tony mused. “Being good got you into my pants more than a few times.”

“I’d like to get into them again right now.”

Tony shook his head. Around them, some of the other visitors were beginning to stand up. Hours were almost over. The morning had slipped through his hands again, and a wave of desperation rolled through him. He didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to leave Steve here at the mercy of a bunch of bullies and a government installation that didn’t really seem to care that the man they had in their custody deserved to be revered instead of overlooked. Or used. But they didn’t see him as a man. No one did. To Ross he was an animal that needed to be caged. To the army, he was either a cross to bear or a pawn to be moved. It was only Tony and their friends that saw Steve as a person. Nat, Bucky, Bruce, Sam, Wanda, Thor, Clint, Rhodey, Fury, hell, even Stephen fucking Strange, they were the only ones who saw the humanity in him. The fact that he was a man. _We’re the lucky ones,_ Tony thought, looking at Steve’s face, drinking him in as though he were a tall glass of water after a long, hot day. _Whatever it is they see, they don’t see_ him. _They don’t see Steve._

“Be patient, baby,” Tony said. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

“You’re always worth the wait,” Steve said, and while the blaze in his eyes didn’t go out, it did dim. Like a cozy fire in a hearth instead of a forest fire. “I’ve waited for you my whole life. When I met Peggy, I thought it was her. And I loved her. I wanted her. And I would have been happy with her. But you...I never knew who I was until I met you. Or who I _could_ be. I don’t deserve you yet, Tony, I know that, but once I’m out of here, I swear to you I’m going to spend every day trying to. Okay? If you’ll let me?”

For Tony, time had ceased to exist. Everyone and everything around them had disappeared. With every word Steve spoke, a little more color had drained from their surroundings and leeched over into the protective bubble he built to keep them separate from everything else. By the time he finished speaking, the world outside was nothing but a swirl of gray, while inside their bubble, every color, every sound, every sensation was heightened a thousandfold. The rumble of Steve’s voice, the red of his lips, even the feeling of Tony’s own clothing against his skin was nearly more than he could bear.

And the words themselves carried weight. Precious, perfect weight. Was Steve really saying forever? Was he really promising Tony his life? God, if that were only true.

_No_ , part of Tony’s mind said. It was cold, that part, cruel, cynical. It had been kindled inside him and nurtured under first Howard, then Obadaiah Stane’s watchful eyes. It had been his unwitting twin. His dark, secret brother, and nothing good ever happened to Tony without its jealous input putting a layer of malice overtop. _He’ll never want you. Not forever. You heard him--he just wants to fuck you. You are good at that. That’s the one thing you’re good for. Everybody’s useless little fuck-toy. That’s all you’re ever going to be. All you’ll ever deserve._

Steve’s not like that, Tony thought. He means it. He’d never say it if he didn’t mean it.

_He’s like all of them saying whatever it takes to get his rocks off._

No. He’s noble. He’s good.

_Too fucking good for you, Stark._

He loves me.

_He loves your cock. And you can’t even get it up all the time anymore. When he finds that out, he’ll bail. Just like the rest._

No.

_Yes_.

No.

_Yes_.

“Tony? Are you okay?” His voice was deeper inside their heightened bubble. His blue eyes like flashing sapphires. Blue. God, so blue they hurt.

Tony let out a short laugh. “Sure I am,” he said coolly. “That’s just some pretty heavy stuff you’re saying. ‘Till death do us part’ kind of stuff.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “That’s silly, Tony.”

_I knew it!_ that capering, gleeful thing shouted, and Tony nodded, resigned, the life slowly draining out of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It is pretty silly.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed. “Death would never keep us apart, right?”

_Wait. What?_

Tony glanced up at him. Into those eyes. Those painful blue eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugged. “Death isn’t really anything, is it?” he asked. “I was scared of it for awhile, but after The Raft, I…” He shook his head. “It’s just a little barrier. It doesn’t mean anything. Just that I’ll have to wait again when I die.” Steve shrugged again, smiling softly. “You’ll catch up, though, won’t you? When it’s your time, you’ll find me, right? And then whatever’s after this, we’ll do it together. Right, Tony?”

His breath was hot in his throat. That other voice had fallen silent. The quiet in his head was bliss. “What if I die first?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Steve leaned forward in his seat. His broken arm pressed against the edge of the metal table. It must have hurt, but he made no sound, showed no pain on his face. He looked deeply into Tony’s eyes, the blue piercing his own chocolate brown. “That’s the one time I won’t wait, Tony,” he said. “I’ll follow you. I’ll be right behind you. I swear.”

“Do you mean that?” Tony whispered.

“I do.”

Tony surged forward and kissed him. The table was in the way, and then it wasn’t. Steve broke away long enough to send the table flying with a shove-- _was that bolted down?_ \--and then Tony was in his arms, his mouth on Steve’s mouth, his hands in Steve’s hair, kissing with a passion they had never before matched.

Around them were sounds of scuffle. Voices shouting, running footsteps, but none of that mattered. It was far away. Unimportant. Meaningless. Right now, the only thing that meant anything was Steve’s arm holding him tightly against his body. Steve’s tongue in his mouth. Steve’s heart pounding against his own. Steve.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

When Steve was pulled away, most of Tony’s heart went with him. Soldiers threw him to the ground and locked chains around his waist that caught his hands in cuffs, his feet in manacles.

“Get out, Mr. Stark,” another soldier barked. “No touching. You knew the rules. Let’s go.”

Tony ignored him. “Steve,” he said.

Four soldiers hauled him to his feet. There was blood on his face, running down his cheek. The gash in his forehead had reopened. His sparkling eyes found Tony’s and he grinned. “We’re having fun now, huh, Tony?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, and yanked out of the soldiers’ hands. 

Steve was being pulled away. His hair fell over his forehead in a tumble. Tony thought he had never looked more beautiful. “It was worth it.”

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.” 

“I know.”

“Did you just fucking Han-Solo me?”

Steve laughed as they dragged him out of the room. Tony watched him go, then when he was gone, turned back to the room at large. Most of the visitors had left, but there were still ten or twelve standing around watching the scene with expressions ranging from shock to humor to outright disgust. One young mother had her hand over her son’s eyes.

“Sorry, folks,” Tony said, licking his lips to make the taste of Steve last longer on his tongue. “Show’s over. Encore performances later in the week.”

“In your dreams, Mr. Stark,” the soldier said. “I doubt you’ll ever be allowed back in. Come on.”

Tony left.

He stopped at the guard station and gathered his things. He refastened his watch and slipped his wallet into his pocket. The keys to the car, he twirled around his finger. He whistled a little as he crossed the parking lot. In spite of the tussle, his heart was very light. He was going to get Steve out of there. It was now a foregone conclusion in his mind. He and Steve were going to be together. Forever. And after that, too.

_He loves me_ , he thought, and for once, that dark voice of self-hatred agreed.

_You know, I think he does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is long, but so is the next one, so...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some answers, and some other stuff...

Strange was waiting for him when he got to the diner. He wasn’t eating, just sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him. Tony looked for Pepper and didn’t see her.

“Where’s Pep?” he asked, sliding into the booth.

“It’s best she’s not here,” Strange answered. 

Tony nodded. “She doesn’t like Steve.”

“She’s jealous of him,” Strange said. “But that’s not why she stayed away.”

“Why, then?”

“She runs a multimillion dollar company. _Your_ company. Public opinion means a lot to the success of that company. It wouldn’t look good if she was involved in anything untoward.”

The waitress brought him coffee and he dumped sugar into it. “‘Untoward’?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds very unsavory, Doc. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Do you want my help or not, Tony?”

“Yes,” Tony answered immediately. “I do. I’m sorry.” He folded his hands in front of his coffee cup, giving the appearance of a good boy. “Please tell me what untoward things you are planning.”

Strange drank some of his coffee. Tony got the impression he was being punished for insolence, and he kept silent, enduring. This was one of the games they played. Battling for dominance. Tony wasn’t much into mind-games though, these days. That’s why he liked Steve. They fought, they argued, but in the end, they compromised and worked together. He and Strange would do that too. It just might take them a little longer. They didn’t have the love-thing to fall back on like he and Steve did. Or the sex-thing.

Strange put his cup down and sighed. “Steve has been hypnotized before. We talked about this.”

“I remember,” Tony said.

“But your little stunt at the prison has now made it difficult for me to get in and examine him.”

“But not impossible.”

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme, and I have the Time Stone at my disposal,” Strange dead-panned. “Nothing’s impossible.”

“I knew there was something I liked about you, Doc,” Tony said. He was impressed. When he thought about it, it was impressive. Strange was still a prick, but Tony had seen him in action. It was easy to forget that the man sitting in front of him here was the same one who had fought alongside him on Titan. He had been impressed then, and he was impressed now. “Tell me what we’re doing, Sorcerer.”

“We’re going to have Wanda Maximoff go in and do it instead.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open. For the second time in a very short amount of time, he was speechless.

Strange watched him, his face blank, his eyes alight with apparent glee at being the cause of a Tony Stark meltdown.

When he regained the use of his tongue, Tony lifted a hand and cupped it behind his ear. “Excuse me, Stephen? Could you repeat that, please? I must be older than I thought. My ears are playing tricks on me.”

“You heard what I said.”

“I don’t think I did.”

“The very fact that you’re asking me to repeat myself, tells me you heard me just fine.”

Tony closed his eyes. He was sure there was a world spinning outside of this booth, and people living lives that had nothing to do with this, but right now, he was having a difficult time believing it.

“We tried that, Stephen,” he said levelly. “I’m sure you recall.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, _Doctor,_ but you said having Wanda do it was...what was the word you used? Oh yes, dangerous.”

“Tony.”

“And I believe there was an ‘unethical’ in there somewhere.”

Strange said nothing.

“Oh, and let’s not forget ‘criminal’.”

“Are you finished?”

Tony considered. “I think that depends on what you say next.”

“You’re right.”

“Okay, I’m finished.”

Strange drank his coffee, and the waitress came and refilled both cups. She didn’t say anything, and neither did they. Tony loved people sometimes.

After he sipped his new cup, Strange said, “Yes, you are right. At the time, I did say those things, and at the time, they were one hundred percent true. Steve was in a mental facility. He was not in full possession of his faculties. He had tried to commit suicide multiple times.”

“Would you please not remind me of that?” Tony said quietly, and Strange nodded.

“No one wants to be reminded of that, Tony. It was a dark time. For all of us.” He steepled his fingers. “For Steve and yourself, most of all. I’m not trying to be cruel. I just want you to understand why it was wrong then and maybe less wrong now.”

“‘Less wrong’,” Tony repeated. “I notice you didn’t say ‘right’.”

“That’s because I don’t believe it is right. But I think ‘less wrong’ is something I can live with now. Things have changed. He’s changed. He’s better. And she’s not going to be maneuvering anything. This will be more like an exploratory surgery than a true operation.”

Tony sighed dreamily. “I love it when you talk medical to me, Doc. It always gets me going.”

Strange ignored him. “I believe we should do it tonight. I’ve already contacted Miss Maximoff. She’s en route now. I offered to bring her by portal, but she opted for the jet.”

“What jet?”

“Yours. Pepper sent it.”

Tony smiled. “Give her a kiss for me.”

“I won’t be doing that,” Strange said, shaking his head.

“Fine. Tomorrow I’ll go kiss her myself.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.”

“I’m glad you approve. Where do we meet?”

“The Tower’s fine. Then Wanda can stay with you tonight and leave from there when she’s ready.”

Tony blinked. This was happening very fast and if he wasn’t so happy, he would be a little irked at the way Strange had taken his plan and manipulated it into his own. He’d even gotten Wanda here again. On Tony’s jet. And made sure she was set up in Tony’s home for the night. Tony didn’t begrudge Wanda one bit. He just wished he had been the one to set all this up for her. Now that he and Steve were truly together, Tony wanted to get to know her a little more. If she was Steve’s pseudo-daughter, that almost made her Tony’s pseudo-step-daughter, and he wanted her to like him. And not pseudo-like him. _Actually_ like him.

But first thing’s first…

“Sounds good, Doc,” he said. “What, like nine o’clock?”

“Make it eleven.”

“Sure. Eleven, it is.” Tony drummed his fingers on the table. Excitement was building inside him. He was ready. “I love this plan,” he said. “I’m ecstatic about this plan. I loved it a year and a half ago when Nat and I came up with it, and I still love it now.”

Strange sipped his coffee. “I love it, too. Now that I’ve made it workable.”

Tony bit his tongue. Thought about Steve, and bit his tongue.

Tony had to admit, grudgingly, but sincerely, the portal made things easier.

Strange and Wanda came to the Tower at eleven, as promised. Tony had hoped Wanda would come to him alone, and they could talk for a while, but she came with Strange instead. It was fine. There would be time after, and they were both so keyed up about the plan that neither had much to say beforehand anyway. Tony gave her a “Hello” and asked how her trip had been. She had said it was fine, thank you, and then it was time to go.

Tony had wondered if Strange would dress down or be in full Sorcerer Supreme regalia, Cloak and all, but he was just wearing jeans and another hoodie. He loved his hoodies, did Doctor Strange. Tony thought, knowing him, the effect was more pretentious than casual, but he supposed to the basic passer-by, he would appear just a normal guy doing normal-guy things. Tony wondered if it was Strange’s attempt at a disguise.

At eleven-fifteen, pleasantries out of the way, Tony stood in the Tower common room. He had told Nat and Bruce what they were doing, and Nat been as indignant as Tony had been. Bruce was more mellow, of course, surprised that they were trying this again, but cautiously optimistic. Tony had known what their reactions would be, right down to Nat’s haughty hair-flip and Bruce’s steadying hand on her shoulder. They didn’t disappoint, and love burst out of him toward them. He’d wrapped them both in a bear-hug, making himself the filling of a Bruce/Natasha sandwich, and told them he’d call them tomorrow with the details.

“Call and regale us with Doctor Strange’s victorious use of _our_ plan? Gee, thanks, Tony,” Nat said bitterly, and Tony squeezed her again.

“Call and tell you how _our_ plan helped Steve and Doctor Strange just happened to be there,” Tony amended. “How’s that?”

“That’s a little better,” she said, and Bruce smiled at him over the top of Nat’s head. Tony felt ten feet tall after that.

“So,” he said now, “are we doing this? Come on, let’s do this.”

Beside him, Wanda was as full of nervous energy as he was. Her fingers drummed lightly against her thigh, her eyes darted from place to place, never lighting on anyone or anything for longer than a second before leaping nimbly away again.

Strange nodded. “Yes. Alright, it’s time. Let’s go.”

He clapped his hands together and gold, glowing discs appeared around them. He held out his hands, and it was as if reality crumbled away around them, leaving a hole in the fabric of the world. Where the pleasant, sleek sofa had been a moment before, there was now a one-bunk prison cell. It was dark, cold, and lonely with only a toilet, a sink, and a bed. It was framed in gold, but the prettiest thing, the most beautiful, glorious, perfect thing, was sitting on the bunk staring at them.

Tony stepped through first, then Wanda, then Strange.

The portal closed after them, and there they stood. The cell was small, uncomfortably so, what with three extra people now standing in it, and Tony saw there were no bars on this door. No bars at all, and no light to speak of. Just a little metal room containing one sorcerer, one witch, one genius, and one super-soldier.

Steve sat on the bed, leaning against the wall. His knees were drawn up to his chest. He looked puzzled instead of surprised. “Hey guys,” he said. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“We just came for a chat,” Tony said. “And a quick cuddle, if you don’t mind.”

Steve grinned and yanked Tony toward him and into his arms. Tony melted against him, holding on tightly. “I meant Strange,” he whispered, and Steve laughed in his ear, then kissed him.

Steve released him, and then it was Wanda’s turn to hug him and receive his kisses. Tony stood back, watching as Steve whispered something to her. The room was small, but Tony couldn’t hear what passed between them. It was okay. He didn’t need to.

Steve didn’t kiss Strange, but he did shake his hand. He’d lost his sling, Tony noticed, but the arm was still encased in a cut-down cast, His face had healed though. It was unblemished, beautiful, but very pale. There were lines of weariness around his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping again, Tony could see. All alone in a metal room with no one to put the blankets back on, his nightmares would be profound. Tony marveled at his strength, his will to keep going no matter what. Six months in a mental facility. A year in an underwater isolated prison. Another three months here. A lesser man would have cracked by now.

Tony sat beside him on the bunk and gestured at the room. “Nice digs, baby,” he said. “Really embracing that whole ‘prison chic’ look, huh?”

Steve smiled a bit sheepishly. Strange had conjured a light, and Tony saw his cheeks turn pink. “This is what happens when you break that ‘no touching’ rule during visitors’ hours.”

“Ouch,” Tony said, and took his hand. Steve’s closed firmly around it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Logistically, this is actually better,” Strange said. “This is much more private.”

Steve looked at each of them in turn, beginning and ending with Tony. “Why do we need private?” he asked, and Tony slid closer, as close as he could get. His thumb caressed Steve’s with one hand, the other cupped the back of Steve’s neck.

“Please listen to me, okay?” he said, and Steve nodded. “I-- _we_ \--want to get you out of here.”

“Okay?”

“Strange thinks something happened to you before. Thinks somebody was messing around up here,” he said, and tapped Steve’s pale forehead. “We want to find out what happened, and we want to do it as quickly as possible.” Tony tightened his grip on Steve, his thumb pressing into the top of his spine. He looked up at Doctor Strange. He nodded. “It would be easier if Wanda…”

Tony trailed off and glanced up at her. Steve followed his gaze, his eyes softening as he took her in, but he did not speak.

“I know what happened last time, baby,” Tony pressed, “but it won’t be the same. Doctor Strange is here to make sure everything stays healthy, and she’s just going to be looking, okay, she’s not going to _do_ anything.”

Tony began to feel a little desperate. Steve wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t speaking or making any sound at all. He was just looking, alternating between the three of them. And his face was blank. Completely and utterly. He’d always been able to do that. Just close his countenance off so no one could tell what he was thinking. Tony had been infuriated by it before. Now, he was just worried.

“Steve,” he said, “baby, please don’t say no, okay? Don’t. I want you to come home. I _need_ you to--”

“I’m not going to say no.”

Tony blinked, stammered for a moment, his mind whirling. “Wh-what? What did you say?”

“I said, I’m not going to say no,” Steve answered. His face was still blank, but he leaned closer to Tony, his eyes touched by fear and resignation, an uneasy combination that hurt Tony clear down to his soul. “I hate it here, Tony,” he whispered, and though the others could plainly hear what he said, they all knew Steve’s words were for Tony only. “I feel weak just being here. I wanna go home.”

Tony pulled him to his chest and held him. Steve hid his face in the crook of his neck and clung to Tony’s waist. Tony remembered Rhodey once telling him he couldn’t be Steve’s life preserver. _Well, fuck that,_ he thought, rubbing Steve’s back in long, soothing strokes. _Fuck that,_ James, _I’ll be his life preserver if I want to. And if we go down, we go down together. Then neither of us will have to wait. We’ll pass into that shadow hand-in-hand, and whatever comes, comes._

“Good,” he said into Steve’s ear, then kissed it three times in fast little pecks that made Steve smile against his neck. Tony hunched his shoulders, and Steve sat up. His eyes were dry but very warm when they settled on Tony’s. Tony touched his cheek, kissed his lips once. “Thank god you finally see reason, huh?” he said. “I really didn’t want to tie you up and force you to do this.”

“You don’t have to tie me up, Tony.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Well. Not here, anyway.”

Wanda giggled, and Strange let out an exasperated groan.

“Can we do this now, Stark, please?” he asked. “We don’t really have time for you to flirt.”

“There’s always time to flirt. Don’t you have the Time Stone? I feel like I could go all night.”

“Tony,” Steve warned softly. He was smiling, his cheeks a pretty pink.

“I don’t mean sex-wise. I’m not twenty-four anymore.”

“Christ, Stark,” Strange muttered, and Wanda giggled again.

“Ugh. Fine.”

Steve took Tony’s hand again and squeezed it, then turned his face toward Wanda and Strange. “What do I do?” he asked. In word and deed, Steve handed himself over to them. The simple trust he put into them all took Tony’s breath away. Only Rhodey had ever trusted him so much.

Strange looked at Wanda. “Miss Maximoff?”

Wanda sat on Steve’s other side, then looked apologetically at Tony. “You can’t touch,” she said. “It will taint the images.”

Tony tried to pull his hand away, but Steve gripped it with panicky tightness. “Don’t leave,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise  
When Steve still didn’t let go, Tony pressed his lips against his broad shoulder. Steve was shaking. His skin quivered under Tony’s lips.

“It’s okay,” Tony whispered. “It’s okay. I’m right here. Everything's going to be okay.” He kissed Steve’s shoulder again, then just stayed there, mouth pressed against him, separated from his hot skin by only the thin fabric of his t-shirt until Steve reluctantly released his hand.

Wanda took it immediately. Steve smiled at her gratefully, and gave her his other hand, as well. “What’s it gonna feel like, red?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “You might feel things again. The way you felt them before,” Wanda said. “I don’t know if it will hurt. I’ll try to absorb it.”

Steve frowned sharply. “Absorb?” He looked at them all again. “Wait. No. Nobody said--”

“It’s alright, Steve.”

“No. Red, I don’t want you to feel those things. I remember enough of what it was like to know I don’t want _you_ to know what it was like.”

“Baby, you’re not giving her enough credit.”

Steve shook his head and tried to pull his hands out of wanda’s. “No,” he said with a terrible finality. “No. I’m not doing it. I won’t put her through that.”

“Baby.” Tony.

“Steve.” Strange.

Wanda bore down suddenly on Steve’s hands. Her eyes flared a misty red, clashing with his icy blues. “I lost my mother and father,” she said deliberately. “I lost Pietro. I was used by both Ultron and Thanos.” Steve winced, but he stopped trying to pull his hands away, and simply looked at her. “And I lost Vision.” She looked at him fiercely. “You helped me carry all that. Let me help you now.”

Steve’s eyes bored into hers. It was another one of those rogues-only non-verbal conversations. Tony could almost hear it in his head, a familial tussle between them:

\--No, I won’t

\-- _Yes. I want to._

\--No, red. I won’t do that to you.

\-- _You’re not doing it to me, Steve. I’m doing this. We’re doing this._

\--Wanda-

\-- _Steve-_

\--Are you sure?

\---- _Yes. Yes, I want to._

Steve leaned forward abruptly and kissed first her right cheek, and then her left. “Alright,” he relented. “Alright, little red. Let’s do it. You and me.”

“You and me,” she repeated, and Tony closed his eyes, relieved.

“Doctor Strange?” Steve said, his eyes never leaving Wanda’s.

“Yes?”

“You’ll monitor this, right? If you think she’s hurting--the _second_ you think she’s hurting…”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m counting on you,” he said, and squeezed Wanda’s hands. His mouth quirked down in a disapproving but affectionate frown. “You have to be the one in control, okay? _She_ won’t quit.”

“Gee, I wonder where she picked _that_ up from?” Tony muttered. “Like father, like daughter, I guess.”

Steve looked at him sharply. Tony shrugged. Natasha had told him of their relationship, and the more he saw them together, the more true it became, but Steve was looking at him in a way that suggested he had never thought of it that way. Or, at least, had never dared to hope he _could_ look at it that way.

“What?” Tony said. “I mean, pretty much, right?” His voice was light, almost flippant, but he suddenly felt very tense. He wanted Steve to have this. He wanted to be able to give it to him.

Steve tore his eyes away from Tony’s and looked at Wanda shyly. Wanda looked back, the fragility in her eyes breaking Tony’s heart then mending it again in the space of a second. They looked so alike, they _could_ have been related by blood, and not just love.

Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes and when Steve sighed in sheer gladness and pulled her to him, they broke free.

Steve held her solidly against him. He pet her long red hair, then settled his palm against the back of her head, cradling it with great care. “I should only be so lucky,” he murmured, and she nodded against his chest.

“Me too.”

Steve reached back with his other hand, groping in the air, and Tony took it. Steve squeezed it hard twice, and Tony didn’t have to be a rogue to figure out what it meant. _Thank you._

Strange stood impassively by. If he felt left out, he didn’t show it, but after a few seconds, he did seem to get impatient. He cleared his throat and said, “We really do need to do this if we are going to. It’s getting late and I don’t know how long it will take.”

Steve squeezed Tony’s hand one more time then let it go. He sat Wanda up, then held her face in his large hands. “Are you sure about this, red?”

“Yes.”

“I’m serious, Doctor. If she gets distressed…”

“I’ll shut it down. Don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

Steve slid his hands down her arms and clasped her hands again. He heaved in a breath, then let it out in a shuddery sigh. “Okay.”

“Close your eyes,” she said.

His eyelids dropped closed. “Tony?”

“I”m right here, baby.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

Wanda’s eyes closed. Her breathing was long and slow, matching Steve breath for breath. Their entwined hands clasped in the space between them glowed with an eerie red light as Wanda began to work her magic. Tony’s eyes met Strange’s. Neither man spoke, neither man moved, and finally Tony let his eyes be drawn back to the red mist twining around Steve and Wanda’s linked hands.

For several long moments, there was nothing. Nothing but their breathing. Tony began to feel disappointment. It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? He remembered all too well the images Wanda had implanted in his head years ago, why could she not do this now? Sure, Steve had gotten steadily more stubborn as the years wore on, but Wanda still should have been able to breach his defenses. Especially since he wasn’t supposed to be defending himself at all. He was offering himself up, not as a sacrifice, but as a willing participant. Shouldn’t she have done it by now? Christ, she was powerful enough to crack an Infinity Stone, but not one grouchy ex-soldier who--

Steve flinched.

It was fast, there and gone in the blink of an eye, but it had happened, Tony was positive of that. Tony looked at Wanda. Her brow was furrowed now, the delicate skin around her eyes creased. Her tongue stole out and touched her lips. It was a fretful gesture. The mirror-image to what Steve sometimes did. Her breathing had quickened, and Steve’s had too. His chest moved faster, rising and falling with each intake and exhale.

Steve’s hands clamped down on Wanda’s spasmodically, and she moaned in the back of her throat, whether from physical pain or something she saw in her mind, no one could tell. Steve’s head moved from side to side in an erratic twitch. His eyes squeezed shut, his face constricted with pain. 

“Do you--” Tony whispered, but Strange cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. Tony closed his mouth, but couldn’t shut off his worry. Steve was moaning himself now, his body continuously shuddering. Sweat gathered on his brow, at the hollows of his temples. His breath was ragged, ripping in and out of his parted lips as though the very act of respiration itself was excruciating.

“No,” Wanda muttered. “No. Oh, no no no.”

Tony looked up at Strange again helplessly, but he shook his head. The sorcerer was staring at the couple on the bed intently, his own breath coming hard and fast.

The temperature in the room had risen steadily, the red mist that had begun as only a few wisps tying Steve and Wanda’s hands together like an ancient bonding ceremony now wafted throughout the whole of the room.

Steve dropped his head suddenly, his chin on his chest, panting, while Wanda threw her head back. The cords on her swan-like neck stood out. Tony could see her pulse fluttering in her throat, her heart trip-hammering. Tears leaked steadily from her eyes, tracing back toward her hairline.

“Ich-Ich Nehme dir--” Wanda said, and Tony’s blood ran cold.

“I won’t take anything--” Steve said plainly.

“--nichts ab, Schwein.”

“--from you, pig.”

“Oh my god,” Tony whimpered. He reached for Steve, meaning to shake him, tear them apart, to end this thing now, but Strange said, “ _No._ ”

“But--”

“Shut up, Tony,” he commanded. “Let them finish.”

“Halten Sie Ihre hübschen Worte für sich.”

“Keep your pretty words to yourself.”

Tony couldn’t sit anymore. He leapt to his feet and turned his back. Every word they said was like a branding iron in his mind. He knew those words, oh god, yes, he knew them. He had heard them in his own nightmares for months. Heard them and felt the crush of Steve’s hands around his throat, choking him, choking the life out of him, felt the razor slice through the thin skin of his cheek, seen the glint of light on the blade as Steve raised it to his own throat.

“Ich hätte dich das erste Mal töten sollen.”

“I should have killed you the first time.”

Tony crouched down in the corner, his legs suddenly too weak to support him, and wrapped his arms around himself. _I should have killed you the first time._ He hadn’t known what those last words had meant. Not until now. Not until Steve said them again now, here, in plain old English, his lips, his tongue, things that had given Tony so much love, so much pleasure, now spilling forth words that were as sharp and deadly as the razor he had once wielded. Tony put his hands over his ears and rocked himself. It was too little too late. The damage was already done. 

Suddenly, Steve began to shake. His entire body began to convulse, his broad shoulders quaked. His head twisted from side to side. Beside him, Wanda thrashed. Her long hair was a whirlwind around her head.

“Tony,” Strange snapped. “Help me.” He grabbed the girl and tried to pull her away, but Steve had her hands locked in his like a vise-grip.

“Stark!” Strange yelled, and this time, it got through.

_Steve_ , he mind cried, and Tony shot to his feet. His knees popped, the sound loud in the tiny metal room, and he laid hold of Steve and yanked him backward.

For just a moment, Tony’s mind was flooded with images. The lake house, the wheelchair, Thanos, a tiny blonde woman in a house dress, Natasha, dirty, disheveled, and absolutely goddess-like in her beauty, a barn, the bunker in Siberia, Thaddeus Ross outside of a dark cell, grinning his triumphant, shark-like grin, that grassy hill in Central Park, a young Sergeant Barnes resplendent in his dress uniform, the common room in the Tower. And himself, of course. He saw himself a dozen times, a hundred times, a _thousand_. In every mood, every light, every way. Smiling, angry, asleep in the bed they’d shared, lounging on the deck with his feet up on the railing. He saw himself in the lab in the Tower, glasses on, face set while his hands flew over images, correcting, assessing, rearranging. He saw himself driving the Bentley. He saw himself as Iron Man, a streak of red and gold, gorgeous and glinting in the sun. He saw himself on his knees, gazing up, his hair rumpled from Steve’s restless, roaming hands while he took Steve into his mouth. 

It was so much.

It was too much.

Tony pulled him back, forcibly breaking the bonds of their linked hands, and then the images were gone. Tony collapsed back, his arms wrapped around Steve’s chest, holding him while Steve shuddered in his arms. His eyes rolled back in his head and he whispered nonsensical words under his breath.

“Steve?” Tony said. “Steve, wake up, baby. Please wake up.”

He glanced over and saw Strange in front of Wanda, smoothing her hair back from her face, speaking in a low voice. Her eyes were open but unfocused, a runner of saliva depended from her lip.

Tony struggled under Steve and sat him up against the wall. He was still shaking, but his eyes were closed now. His breath seemed to come a little easier. Tony touched his face, caressed his cheek, his hair. “Baby. Hey, come on, big guy, come back to me. Open your eyes.”

Beneath his hands, Steve moved. He tilted his head, drew in a deep breath. “Hey,” Tony coaxed. “Wake up, Steve. Come on. Please.”

“Tony?” he breathed uncertainly, and Tony nearly swooned with the force of his relief. He rested his head against Steve’s shoulder. It seemed too heavy to lift.

“Where are we?” Steve mumbled.

Tony forced his head up enough to press his lips to Steve’s neck, his chin, his cheek, his lips, finally his lips, small, soothing little kisses that were almost more for himself than Steve. _You’re here,_ he thought, kissing him. _You’re with me. You’re always with me._

Steve’s hand found its way to Tony’s belt loop. His finger curled into it and Tony made a sound dreadfully close to a sob. He wound his hand into Steve’s hair and kissed him deeply.

“Tony,” Steve said again, chanting it like a steadying mantra. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he answered. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Steve’s eyelids fluttered open and he finally focused on Tony’s face.

“There’s my guy,” Tony said. “There’s my best guy.”

“What happened?” Steve asked, his eyes flitting around the room. “Where are…” He stopped, and Tony saw everything come back to him. His eyes cleared, and he clutched Tony’s arms with strong fingers. “Wanda. Where’s Wanda?”

Her voice drifted to them from where she sat on the floor with Doctor Strange. It was frightened, unsure. “Steve?”

“Wanda?”

“Steve?”  
  
He sat up straight, and then she was there, crawling into his lap, curling herself into a tight ball, sobbing helplessly into his thigh. Steve wrapped his arms around her and held her fast. “Shh,” he soothed, tenderly rubbing her back in a way Tony remembered his mother doing with him after a fight with Howard. “Shh, red, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I-I saw, I _felt_ …”

“I know. I know. It’s over now, though. You don’t need to think about it anymore.”

“You hurt,” she sobbed. “So much hurt.”

“Don’t, Wanda. Please. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh. No more. Just let it go. It’s over.”

“They used you,” she said bitterly. “They all used you. They’ve been using you from the start.”

“I was _made_ to be used at the start, red. After that...it doesn’t matter.”

She sat up , eyes blazing out of her tear-stained face. “How can you say that? Of course it matters. Everything you did. Everything they _made_ you do…”

“It’s over,” Steve said mildly.

“They were still using you, Steve. That’s how you ended up here. You wouldn’t be here if--”

“Wait,” Tony broke in. “What are you talking about?”

Strange stood over them, his face watchful. “Did you see something, Wanda? Did you see what happened?”

“They wanted to push him. See how much he could take. They wanted to see how far he would go before--”

“Before what?” Tony asked hollowly.

“Before he snapped. And then when he did, they could show the world what a monster he was. And then they could get rid of him. That’s what they wanted, Tony. They just wanted to get rid of him like an old, worn-out shoe.”

“ _Why_?” Tony asked, but she shook her head. 

“I don’t know.” She touched Steve’s face. “Because he doesn’t know.”

“Who?” Strange asked. “Who was doing this?”

Steve reached up and folded Wanda’s fingers into his, then smoothed her hair away from her face. She leaned into him again and curled up against his chest. She was still on his lap, and he held her there. Tears made glistening tracks down her cheeks.

“I don’t think there’s much proof, guys,” he said softly. “Maybe there isn’t any proof, at all. It’s just in my memory.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of Wanda’s head. “All he’d have to do was say it was all in my head. And who knows? Maybe he’s right.”

“Who?” Strange asked again.

“Ross.”

“ _What_?”

Instead of answering, Steve just turned to Tony and shrugged. 

“Are you saying Ross engineered this?” Tony asked.

“I’m saying that’s what I remember,” Steve answered carefully. “I’m not saying it’s true.”

“It’s true,” Wanda said from within his arms. 

“Shh.”

“Why don’t you want it to be true?” she asked.

Steve sighed and looked at Tony. “Back me up here.”

“Actually, I’m kind of wondering the same thing.”

Steve frowned, disappointed and hurt. “Can’t you just be on my side?”

“I _am_ on your side, but baby--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony rubbed his eyes, frustrated beyond belief. “You always fucking do that.”

“Look,” Steve said softly. “Maybe I _don’t_ want it to be true. Maybe that’s just a little more vendetta than I want to deal with tonight.”

Tony let out a breath. “Fuck,” he muttered, and ran a hand through his hair.

“He’s right,” Strange said. “Let’s go. We should take a breather. We need to process this, it won’t do any good to go off half-cocked.”

Steve nodded up at him gratefully. Tony watched out of the corner of his eye and shook his head in disgust. Stephen Strange to the rescue, once again.

Steve grasped Wanda with gentle hands. “Will you go back to the Tower with Tony? This has been a lot. You need to rest.”

“I could go to a hotel.”

“No,” Tony said before Strange could jump in and take this from him too. “Come on back to the Tower. It’s pretty quiet there. And I’ve got movies, and popcorn, and, you know, every Thai place in the city on speed dial. It’s way better than a hotel.”

She shrugged shyly. “I like Thai food.”

Tony nodded. “Me too. Plus I can tell you about the time Steve got caught in that revolving door.”

Wanda giggled.

“Oh yeah,” Tony went on, encouraged. “I’ve got tons of Steve-stories. You’ll love it.”

“I changed my mind,” Steve said. “Go to a hotel.”

Tony put his arm around Wanda’s shoulders. “No way, Rogers. We’ve got way too much to talk about.”

Steve smiled. “Have it your way, Stark.”

Tony smiled back. The breach between them wasn’t quite mended, but it wasn’t big either. It wouldn’t get any bigger, Tony vowed. Never again.

“Let’s go,” Strange said, and created a portal. Steve looked into it at the quiet dark of the Tower common room. The moon shone through the windows, casting its pale light onto the sofas. A lone blanket--an afghan Bruce had crocheted and given to Tony for Christmas--lay over the back of one. 

Steve’s brow constricted again, a look of sheer longing on his face. It was the look of a starving man at a banquet. The look of a man dying of thirst contemplating a freshwater stream. 

The look of a man long-imprisoned thinking about home.

“Miss Maximoff?” Strange said.

Steve tore his eyes away from the portal and hugged her tight. “Let Tony take care of you, okay? Eat Thai food. Play Xbox. Listen to his stupid stories. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He kissed her once, then let her go. She stepped through the portal.

“Doctor Strange,” Steve said, standing to shake his hand. “Thank you. You’ve done so much. Thank you.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow night. I’ll have something figured out by then.”

“Okay.” 

“Stark? Come on.”

Tony stuck his hands in his back pockets and looked up at Steve. “Guess I should go.”

“Can you stay for a minute?” Steve asked. “Just a minute?”

Tony looked a question at Strange and he nodded. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” A look of vague consternation crossed his face. “Please...be ready.”

He nodded at Steve and was gone.

“He thinks you’re going to blow me,” Tony said when they were alone in the cell, then added hopefully, “Are you going to blow me?”

“If I was going to blow you, I would have asked for longer than a minute,” Steve said. “You know I like to take my time.”

Tony nodded. “I do know that. So, mutual hand-jobs it is, right?”

Steve chuckled. “I wish.”

Tony put his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him closer. “Okay, Captain Grumpy, what is it? You’re being all cagey and I don’t like it.”

“Cagey? Was that a pun or just a coincidence?”

Tony winced. “Bad choice of words. Sorry.”

Steve put his face against the side of Tony’s neck and breathed him in. Tony put his hand on the back of his head, running his hair through his fingers. 

“It’s okay,” Steve murmured.

Tony held him for a while, then pulled away a little. “Don’t get me wrong, baby, I’m loving this right now, but did you really ask me to stay just to cuddle?”

“ _You_ pulled _me_ in.”

“You escalated it.”

“You’re right,” Steve said, and stepped out of his grip, ignoring Tony’s “Hey!” of protest. “No, you’re right. I have something to say and if I keep touching you, it really will be mutual hand-jobs and I’ll forget what I wanted to tell you, and then you’ll be gone.”

“I’m a good multi-tasker,” Tony said, reaching for Steve’s waistband. “I can jerk you off and listen at the same time.”

Steve took another step back. His back was pressed against the wall now. It really was a tiny room. “Yeah, but I can’t jerk you off and talk at the same time.”

Tony pressed against him and tongued the spot below his ear. He’d claimed it as his own once. He was going to reclaim it now. “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to. You just talk. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“No,” Steve said faintly.

“Yes.” Tony gripped him through his pants, and Steve sighed harshly. His head fell back against the metal wall. He closed his eyes. “Go on, baby,” Tony said, and traced his finger over Steve’s growing erection. “Talk. I’m listening.”

“Tony. I can’t while you’re doing that.”

“Oh, I think you can.” He kissed Steve’s neck, ran his tongue along his jawline. “You can do anything. I have complete faith in you.”

“Tony--”

“Tell me,” Tony said as he slipped his hand inside Steve’s pants. They were elastic-waist, prison-issue pajama pants. Such easy access. Uncle Sam wanted Steve to get off almost as much as Tony did, it seemed. Steve moaned as Tony wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked. “That wasn’t words, baby,” he chided and kissed his neck again. “Talk to me. Tell me what it was. Was it something about Ross?”

Steve’s breath picked up as Tony’s hand moved. His eyes were still closed, but he nodded. “Yeah. It was. Faster, Tony. Please.”

Tony complied. “What was it? What about him?”

“Um. It wasn’t just him. It was--oh god, Tony, that feels--Doctor Baxter. He was in on it--don’t stop--He was in on it, too.”

Tony’s hand stopped and Steve whined in the back of his throat. “Doctor Baxter your psychiatrist?”

“Yes,” Steve whimpered. “Yes. He’d been developing a drug. Ross knew about it. He might have bankrolled it. I don’t know all that part. But, he administered it during our sessions. He--Tony, please keep going. Please. I need it. I need you, Tony, please.”

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ll get you there, okay? Just tell me about the drug. And the light.”

“The light was like hypnosis,” Steve breathed, and Tony began to move again, pulling him slowly but insistently, just the way Steve liked. 

“They hypnotized you? Why?”

“So I would do stuff. All the stuff I did. All the stuff I forgot. They pumped me full of Baxter’s drugs then flashed that light, and I...I was gone. I got lost. I couldn’t find myself anymore, Tony. I couldn’t...I couldn’t find you a lot of the time.” 

“But how did they know to do it? I researched Baxter, Steve. Dr. Wilkes recommended him.” 

Steve laughed helplessly. “Do you think Ross wasn’t keeping tabs on us, Tony? Don’t blame Dr. Wilkes. He’s a good man. He’s as much a victim as we are. Ross has people everywhere. Eyes everywhere. And he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. When he knew you were looking for a doctor for me, he just put Baxter into play. It was easy.”

Tony stroked Steve harder, faster. 

“Right there, Tony. Just like that. Please,” Steve panted. “He came sometimes. To watch. Ross.”

Tony stopped again. “Watch? Your sessions?”

Steve whined shamelessly. “Tony, please. God, you’re killing me. Please.”

“How many times did he come?”

Weak laughter bubbled out of Steve’s mouth. “Probably not as many times as I’m going to. If you ever let me.”

Tony gripped him hard, not moving, just holding him tight in his fist, and Steve moaned. “You’re being bad again, Captain Rogers,” Tony whispered. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.”

“How good?”

“So good. So, so good.”

“And Ross?”

Steve exhaled, frustrated. “Tony--”

“Steve.”

“A few. I don’t know. He only came while I was under. I don’t remember how many. Please, Tony. Please.”

Tony pressed against him and kissed him on the mouth, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“They kept it up,” Steve said, his voice pained. “When I went to The Raft. They just dosed me more. Every day. Except when Doctor Strange was coming, then they stopped. After he left, they’d start again.”

Sick anger rolled over him, making Tony weak in the knees. If he hadn’t been leaning so fully against his guy, he would have collapsed. “Are you telling me they kept you drugged for an entire _year_?”

Steve nodded. “Wanda was right,Tony. He wanted to break me.” He looked into Tony’s eyes. There was fear there, and anger, and a steely indomitability that made Tony weak in the knees for a whole host of other reasons. Pride. Respect. Love. “But, I didn’t break, Tony,” Steve said. “I didn’t. Not again. Not like--”

Tony let go of him and dropped to his knees. He licked his lips, then took Steve into his mouth and sucked him down hard. Steve’s hand came to his hair and fisted there, tugging just this side of too hard. Tony’s vision blurred as he looked up at Steve’s face. He was beauty personified. Michelangelo’s _David_? Adonis? Steve put them to shame. With his head thrown back, his bottom lip between his teeth, his pale cheek tinted pink, he was perfection. And he was Tony’s. 

Steve gasped in pleasure as Tony did things to him with his lips and his tongue. It was loud in the enclosed room. He put his hand over his own mouth and slumped bonelessly against the wall, letting Tony have his way with him. 

It was viciously hot. And Tony was viciously hard. He unbuttoned his jeans and took himself in hand, working his own cock fast and hard. Steve was close, so very close, and Tony was too. His hand moved faster, and when Steve came down his throat a moment later, Tony was not far behind. 

He swallowed around Steve’s softening erection, sucking him through his orgasm, then pulled off. Steve slid to the floor, breathing heavily, dazed and drained. Tony took some time tucking himself away. Had it been fifteen minutes yet? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. All he cared about right now was the tiny tilt of Steve’s lips, that look of satisfaction that always appeared on his face in the afterglow.

Tony reached out and adjusted Steve’s pajamas, making sure everything was back where it belonged, then sat back on his haunches. 

“Hey, you,” he said, and Steve opened his eyes finally.

“Fuck you.”

“Too late.”

“You weren’t going to do that.”

“No,” Tony said, “ _you_ weren’t going to do that. I never said I wouldn’t.”

Steve tilted his head back against the wall again and drew his knees up. He clasped his arms loosely around them, and looked at Tony. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Tony looked at him, puzzled. “You asked me to stay.”

“No. I don’t mean that. I mean why are you _here_? With me?”

“Because I want to be.”

“Yeah, but why? Wanda didn’t just stir up all the Ross stuff, Tony. I saw all the rest, too. How ungrateful I was. How...cold. How hard I was on you all the time.” He sighed. “Why did you stay?”

Tony moved closer and put his hand s on Steve’s arm. “I love you.”

“That’s not an answer, Tony. That’s not a _reason_.”

“There’s nothing reasonable about love, Steve,” Tony said. “It’s not something you figure out. You just go with it.”

“That’s funny coming from you,” Steve said. “Mr. Problem-solver.”

“Why do you stay with me?” Tony countered.

Steve smiled his half-smile. “‘Cause I love you.”

Tony shrugged. “There you go. Problem solved.”

Steve unclasped his hands and tugged Tony’s arm. “Come here,” he said.

Tony shook his head. “Put your knees down. I wanna sit on your lap.”

Steve snorted a little and let Tony arrange his legs how he wanted, then when Tony crawled into his lap and settled his head on his chest, Steve put his arms around him. 

“Happy?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Good.”

The thud of Steve’s heart was a comforting beat. Slow, soft, steady. As upsetting as they’d been, for the time being, Tony had forgotten the things Steve had said. He’d forgotten they were in a prison cell. They could be anywhere. The cabin, the Tower, Hawaii, Peru, fucking Antarctica. It didn’t matter. Steve planted a kiss on the top of his head. His hand stole under the hem of Tony’s shirt and caressed his skin. Tony lifted Steve’s other hand and kissed the pad of each finger, then the middle of the palm.

“They say love fades,” Steve murmured.

“They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

“That’s not going to happen to us, is it, Tony?”

“No.”  
  
Steve held him closer. He had taken a lot of comfort from Tony, but he repaid it during moments like this. Steve was thinner now, but no less warm, no less strong and protective, and for Tony, his arms meant safety. His arms meant security. His arms were the place where Tony felt most vulnerable, and yet they were also the place in which he felt the need to shower Steve with warmth and peace and gratitude of his own. Was that the essence of true love? That wanting to take and take, yet needing to give? Greediness and generosity all rolled into one. Tony had certainly never felt anything like it with anyone else. Never wanted to feel it with anyone else. Never. 

He curled his fist into Steve’s shirt and kissed his chest. “Besides,” he said, “I believe you promised me an eternity.”

Steve twined his fingers with Tony’s. “I did,” he agreed. “I do.”

“I do too, you know.”

“Yeah. I know. But it’s nice to hear.”

They sat in silence for a while. It had been fifteen minutes forty-five minutes ago, Tony was sure. Not that he was complaining. Not with Steve’s heart thumping serenely in his ear, and Steve’s thumb caressing his side, and Steve’s breath in his hair. 

“I can’t believe you went down on me in a prison cell,” Steve said softly.

“I couldn’t wait to get you home.”

“I’m glad.”

“Did you really go four more times after I left that day?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah.”

“That’s unbelievably hot. I’m going to think about that again later tonight.”

Steve shifted, squeezed him tightly, and bent his head to kiss the back of Tony’s neck. “Will I get to come home soon?” he asked, and Tony said “Yes,” with no hesitation.

“Good,” Steve said. “I don’t want to be in here anymore.”

“I don’t want you to either.”

“I have nightmares.”

Tony stroked his cheek. “I know, baby.”

“Do you still have nightmares?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you do when you have them?”

“I think about you.”

Steve sighed and Tony could feel the contentment in it. “I love you,” Steve whispered.

“Yup. That. That’s what I think about.”

“Keep thinking about it.”

“I will,” Tony assured him, running his fingers up and down his arm. They only went so far. His cast was in the way, still, but it was far enough to make Steve shiver. Tony smiled, loving that. “What do you do?”

“Um. Nothing. But I know what I’m going to do from now on.”

“What? Think about your boyfriend, Doctor Strange?”

“I could try that, I guess,” Steve drawled.

“Don’t you dare.”

“No. I’ll think about you. About this.”

Tony lifted his head and guided Steve’s mouth to his. It was soft, sensual, sweet. A perfect kiss. A perfect moment. “Think about that, okay?”

Steve nodded and let his mouth play over Tony’s. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you.”

“More than anything.”

“Me too, baby.”

They sat trading lazy, soft kisses, murmuring sweet words and promises into each other’s mouths, hands touching, exploring innocently, affectionately. Time passed. Time stood still. Time did not exist. Not here, not in this place where they were alone together in the almost-darkness. This place where they both gave and took what they needed. What they wanted.

Some unknown time later, a golden crack appeared in the air. 

“Here he comes,” Steve said, and Tony nodded.

The crack widened and became a tear, a hole, a portal large enough for a man to walk into . Or walk out of. “Come on, Stark,” Strange said, stepping into the cell. “It’s time to go.”

Tony stood up, groaning a little at his stiff knees. Concrete and blow jobs did not go together after twenty-five, but he felt good. He felt like he was whole again for the first time in a very long time. Steve held his hands out, and Tony helped haul him up. Steve immediately wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and buried his head in his neck. Tony held him.

“Not much longer now, baby,” he promised.

“‘Kay. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Thanks for staying.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“Stark,” Strange said, and Tony pulled out of Steve’s arms. He kissed him one more time, not lingering, but putting every ounce of his love into it. And Steve did the same. Tony felt it. He took it and put it in his pocket like a physical thing. Another one of those things he could take out and look at when the world was cold. He touched Steve’s face one more time, mouthed _I love you,_ and then Strange ushered him through the portal with a final wave.

They came out into the common room, and the word had never felt so right. After the time he’d spent with Steve, this place had never felt so common. Tony looked at his watch as the portal closed. They had went in at eleven-fifteen. It was now twelve twenty-three. Tony blinked, surreality making him dizzy. It seemed he and Steve had spent hours, _days_ , making love then kissing and talking so sweetly in each other’s arms on the floor of the cell.

“How long was I in there?” he asked.

“Fifteen minutes,” Strange answered.

“It felt a lot longer.”

Strange shrugged and fingered the slight bulge under his shirt. The Time Stone. “Did it?”

Tony shook his head, smiling a little. “Thanks, Doc.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.”

“Let’s get together tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yeah. We do.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

“Goodnight, Doc.”

Strange turned to leave, and Tony went to find Wanda. He was already rehearsing his rendition of “Steve Versus the Revolving Door” in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's Christmas night here. Seven pm, where I am. I spent the day watching silly Eighties movies and editing (and now posting) silly Stony fanfic. All in all, not a terrible way to spend my first ever Christmas alone. But, really, I wasn't alone. I had Steve and Tony, and even though you may not have known it, I had you all, too. Thank you for that. I am crying a little now, thinking about it, and I know it's pathetic, but I kind of don't care, because you guys have been my friends during all this, so THANK YOU for making me feel better, even if you didn't know it. Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, if you celebrate it, and if you don't, I hope you just had a wonderful day! I really do love and appreciate you all! Here's to better times soon!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end...

“These are some very extensive files you have here, Doctor. Very detailed. I’m impressed.”

The man on the carpet mumbled something.

Nat ignored him and read more. A hard copy was printing away in the corner, and she was downloading everything onto a tiny zip drive, but her amber eyes ate up the screen in front of her. 

“Hypnosis and light therapy,” she said. “Interesting. And this drug...oh wow. Three years, you were developing that?" She shook her head. Her hair had gotten longer and she’d let the color grow out. Blonde mixed with bright red. Bruce liked it. Liked the duality of the colors. He said it reminded him of himself--Banner and the Hulk. She’d slapped his arm and called him a sap. But she hadn’t changed it. “That’s crazy,” she murmured.

He mumbled something else. Something that sounded very much like “MMmphhrmmm.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I can’t understand you with the gag, silly.”

“Mmmphblumph!”

“Hush. I’m trying to read.”

“MMPHH!”

Nat walked over and crouched beside him. She lifted her hand and Doctor Baxter cowered back as far as his restraints allowed. It wasn’t much. She’d tied them tight.

He needn’t have worried, anyway. She had no intention of harming him. Instead, she brought her hand down and lightly caressed his hair. “You need to stop making sounds now, Doctor Baxter, alright?” she said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I _could_. Easily. But I don’t want to.” She smiled down at him with sympathy, petting his hair. It was fine. Blonde. Insubstantial. Running her fingers through it after Bruce’s coarse, thick locks felt like a travesty, but she did it anyway. He was calming a little under her touch. Almost in spite of himself. That was her power. _One_ of them, anyway.

“I’m going to go check the download, alright?” she said. “You’re going to be quiet, aren’t you, Doctor?”

He nodded, and she smiled again. “Good. That’s good.”

She went back to the computer. The download was complete, but she scrolled through his notes a bit further, fascinated. “Ross, you bad boy, you,” she whispered, as her eyes caught words like “Internalized demons” and “Heightened trauma” and “Induced violent tendencies” and everywhere, covering the page like bloodied handprints: “Rogers. Rogers. Rogers.”

“Nat? If you’re done messing around with that thing, we should get out, yeah?”

“Patience is a virtue, Clint.”

“Whoever said I was virtuous? Save that for your homelife, baby, this is business.”

She laughed under her breath. “You are such a smartass.”

He came to stand behind her, keeping his eye on Baxter. “He tell you anything before you gagged him?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said. “ _This_ is telling me everything.”

Clint finally looked at the screen. His eyes jumped from place to place, catching many of the same phrases Nat had. His face grew sober in the glow of the screen, his easy, cock-sure smile fading away to nothing. “What the fuck?”

Nat looked back at him. Touched his arm. Her face was a mask of anger and sympathy. “I know,” she said softly.

“They tried to tear him out of himself,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Make him forget...who he was. Make him forget everything.”

As long as she’d known him, as _well_ as she knew him, it still almost wasn’t enough to catch him.

Clint slipped through her hands with eerie speed and was cocking an arrow before she even knew he was gone.

“Clint!” she snapped, realizing his intent and the reason for it in the very next heartbeat. She leapt to his side and grasped the arrow before he could let it fly. She stared at him hard. “Don’t,” she said.

“ _Why_?” he gritted. “He deserves it.”

“Yes,” she agreed, still holding the arrow. It trembled in her hand, an echo of Clint’s quivering muscles. “But that’s not you. Not anymore.”

“I’ll make an exception.”

Natasha put her hand on his chest, feeling the racing tattoo of his heart beneath her palm. His eyes were hard, his mouth a trembling bow. She hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. Not since Thanos and Japan.

On the floor, Baxter was apoplectic with fear. His face was maroon, his eyes bulging and spouting tears. He mouthed at the gag Nat had shoved in his mouth constantly, uttering sounds with no meaning. Nat paid him no mind whatsoever. Her thoughts were too full of her friend.

“Clint,” she said gently. “Don’t. I know, but don’t. You’re better than that.”

“No, I’m not.”

She laid her hand against his cheek, urging him to look away from Baxter, to look at her instead, to meet her eyes and take some solace there. “Yes, you are. If I can let it lie for now, then you can, too.”

“They can’t just do that, Nat,” he said, still holding the arrow at the ready. “They can’t just be allowed to do that. To anyone.”

“I know. And they’re not going to get away with it. Doctor Baxter here has given me all the information we need, and he’s going to be very cooperative when it’s time, aren’t you, Doctor?”

He nodded frantically. Natasha didn’t look down at him, but she heard him, and she saw some of the tension go out of Clint’s shoulders. 

“If you kill him now, he can’t do that. And Ross will get away with it,” she said. “I know you don’t want that. Thor made sure Loki suffered for what he did to you.” Clint tensed again, but her worry was draining away. She knew he’d seen reason. She just needed this last bit for insurance. “Now, it’s _our_ turn to make sure Ross suffers for what he did to Steve.”

Clint sighed and lowered his arrow. “Why do you have to be so fucking reasonable?”

She slanted him a smile. “To deal with you.”

“Fine. Have it your way. As usual.”

Nat rubbed his shoulder consolingly. “Come on now. Don’t be sulky. Or I won’t bring you a souvenier from Majorca.”

“Majorca? Since when are you going to Majorca?”

“Since we found all this stuff on Baxter’s computer, she said. “Tony and I had a bet. He said there was no _way_ he’d be stupid enough to keep files like that in his home, and I told him he definitely would.”

Clint smiled, and she threaded her arm through his and turned him back to the computer. Away from Baxter. Away from the temptation to just kill the son of a bitch. 

“You bet on this?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t let me in on it?”

She grabbed the hard copy and stuck it in a folder. “Sorry.”

“That’s cold.”

“But Majorca won’t be,” she said. “Sun. Sand. Fruity umbrella drinks.” She stuck the zip file into the front of her top, snugging it down between her breasts. “And Bruce promised to take me to swim with the dolphins if-- _when_ \--I won.”

Clint snorted. “Dolphins, Nat? Really?”

“I happen to like dolphins.”

“Over-achieving assholes.”

She gave him a look as she began wiping the rest of Baxter’s files clean. Tony had given her a device specifically for this purpose. Just in case.

“What is your problem with dolphins?”

“They’re like those annoying nerdy kids in high school who knew every answer and got 110% on every quiz. God, I _hated_ those pricks.”

“Wow. You’ve got some real unresolved issues there. Does Laura know about this?”

“Maybe...not.”

Nat laughed. “I’m done here.”

They walked over to where Baxter lay on the floor. “So,” Clint said, nudging him with the toe of his boot. “What do we do with this guy? Please say kill him.”

“Take him to the safehouse.”

He scowled, and she held his arm, pressed her mouth to his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said.

“It’s not okay.”

“Well. Relatively okay.”

Clint sighed. “Relatively. Guess that’s as good as we’re ever going to get, isn’t it?”

“Probably. People like us don’t get the luxury of black and white.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yes.”

They reached down and dragged Baxter to his feet, holding him between them. He scrabbled with his feet, but they didn’t do much to either help or hinder their progress.

“So, Majorca, huh?” Clint asked.

“Yup. Three gorgeous weeks.”

“Finally gonna get your doctor a tan?”

“Shut up.”

“Loosen that stick up his ass a little?”

“Shut _up_ , Clint.”

“You might even be able to get him to take his lab coat off.”

Natasha looked at him over Baxter’s bowed head. “I _will_ kill you, Barton.”

“‘I _will_ kill you, Barton’,” he mimicked, and Natasha shook her head, as they manhandled Baxter into the back of their transport. She couldn’t help the faint blush that crept up onto her cheeks or the way her mouth curved into a small, secret smile. He was teasing. She knew that. But there was an under-current of jealousy there, too. Hearing it was as good as the thought of three weeks lounging beach-side with her tan, decidedly lab-coat-free _doctor._

Well, _almost_ as good.

\---

Secretary of State, General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross’ home was as grand as any politicians’ could ever hope to be. It was three-storeys, pillared, gambreled and gabled with an honest to god turret. It was enough to give any fan of Victorian architecture wet dreams for a month.

There were also spotlights, gates, and guards. The man was powerful, and maybe not the most honest guy in Washington--which, in this day and age, was probably a plus for him, career-wise--and that necessitated high levels of security.

Luckily for them, his tech was no match for one Tony Stark, and his guards were easily brought to heel by the Avengers’ own resident witch, who had them dreaming of their halcyon days of yore. For most, that was home with their mothers. For one or two, their high-school years. One, an older guy with a hard, craggy face and a tarnished wedding band, dreamed of a hot summer spent in a hay loft with a golden-haired ranch-hand. Wanda made sure he was extra comfortable. After losing Vision and experiencing all the years Steve spent pining after Tony while she went through his meticulously-catalogued mind, she took a vested interest in long, lost love.

Ross was alone in the house apart from his guards. His wife was out of town visiting their daughter at school. They had no other children, and Ross was apparently either extraordinarily discreet with his affairs, or the only faithful man in D.C. Tony hoped it was the latter. He’d met the man’s wife before, and she was a sweet, humble little thing with big dark eyes and a gentle smile. She’d reminded him of his own mother, and hoped Ross treated her with more care than Howared had spared. For her sake, not his. He may have a nice woman by his side, but Ross was still a dick of epic proportions.

Hence, the reason they were there.

“How we looking, FRI?” Tony muttered, and her voice came through his earpiece. 

“Miss Maximoff has incapacitated all guards and Mr. Wilson successfully penned the dogs away. The only heat signature left belongs to Secretary Ross. He’s in his bed. Third floor, second door at the top of the stairs.

“Beautiful. Thank you, angel.”

“You’re welcome, boss.”

“Alert me to any little surprises he may have, ‘kay?”

“I’m not sensing anything, boss, but be wary. My assessment of the situation--and the man--suggests he probably has a firearm somewhere near him now.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony agreed. “That’s my assessment, too.”

Tony slipped up the darkened stairwell, making as little noise as possible. That was one thing about not wearing the suit that he’d come to appreciate: the ability to move silently. No thrusters giving away his movements. However, incognito had never been Iron Man’s style. He was an in-your-face kind of guy. Tony Stark had grown to enjoy a quieter life.

Wanda met him at the second floor landing. Tony pointed up the last flight. She nodded and fell into step behind him. She’d been staying at the Tower with him since their little field-trip to the prison, and the two of them had become friendly. They’d done it exactly like Steve had suggested--they ate Thai food, played Xbox, and told stories. They weren’t all about Steve--at least not anymore--and Tony had sealed their newfound friendship by giving her her own room in the Tower and a credit card. Wanda had tried to refuse the card, but Tony insisted. She hadn’t used it yet, but Tony had caught her ogling Balenciaga handbags on-line. It was really only a matter of time.

They reached the third floor and stole down the corridor to the second door. Outside it on the wall facing the door was a large Jackson Pollock. Its exuberant splatters of blue, green, yellow, and red would be the first thing “Thunderbolt” saw when he opened his door in the morning. And with the window at the end of the hallway, spilling out its morning light, it would be perfectly lit. The effect was probably dizzying.

Steve would be breathless.

“Fuck off, Ross,” Tony muttered under his breath.

“Tony?”

He shook his head at her and laid hold of the knob. “Still asleep, FRI?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Beautiful.”

Tony eased the door open and stepped inside. The room was big, airy, with little feminine touches that said the lady of the house definitely slept here, too. A vanity on the far wall with lotions, and creams, and a monogrammed silver hairbrush. A vase of flowers. A soft chenille robe tossed at the foot of the bed. There was also a duo of picture frames on Thaddeus’ side table. One was a posed photo of the family. Mrs. Ross and the daughter, both in pearls, smiling in stiff-backed chairs with Thaddeus standing behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. A campaign photo if ever there was one. The other was the polar opposite. It was outside, candid, natural. The photographer--the daughter, maybe--had caught Mrs. Ross in a laugh, her head turned, her hair a light brown haze, loose and carefree. She was wearing a sleeveless top, and her shoulders were sunburned. A pair of sunglasses dangled from one hand. Ross stood behind her, arms clasped around her middle, his head dipped into the soft juncture of her neck and shoulder. It looked like he had either just kissed her there, or was about to.

Tony looked at it for a long time, his mind casting helplessly back to all the times Steve had kissed him in the exact same place. How nice it felt to have his lips there, how warm his breath was, how his hair brushed against the underside of Tony's jaw.

He glanced at the robe lying at the foot of the bed. His intel said the wife had been gone for three days. Three days, and yet the robe was still there? That seemed like a long time to leave it there for a man as fastidious as Ross seemed to be in all other respects.

And then there was the man himself. He was asleep alone in the big bed, and while he was sleeping more on the right side, his hand was outstretched toward the left, reaching even in his sleep to where she would ordinarily be.

_Shit,_ Tony thought. _He loves her. Why did he have to love her? I can’t hate him completely now._

Behind him, Wanda gave him a not-so-subtle nudge, and he nodded again. 

Tony moved to Ross’ bedside, and Wanda eased herself over to the other where his wife laid down each night. Tony took a deep breath, met Wanda’s eye, then said, “Thad. Wake up.”

Ross’ eyes flew open, and his hand reached, snake-like, under his pillow. It was instinct, innate, and if Tony had not been one thousand percent sure it was going to happen, Ross might have killed him then and there.

But he _had_ known, and the gauntlet was already in his face before Ross could pull his own weapon out of its hiding place.

“Easy there, Thad,” Tony said. “Don’t do anything stupid, ‘kay? I don’t want to fry you, but I will.”

“Stark?” he said, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Take your weapon out. Slowly.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah, you are, or I’m going to kill you. Don’t make me make your wife a widow.”

Something flashed in Ross’ eyes, and he eased the gun from under his pillow. 

“Give it to Wanda.”

“Tony--”

He nodded at her. “It’s okay, sweetie. Take it.”

Ross held it out, butt-first, and she took it gingerly, a look of disgust on her face. She didn’t like guns. Tony could relate.

“You got any other surprises for me, Thad?” Tony asked. “Don’t lie. FRIDAY can sweep the room and if she sees something, you and I will have to take a little trip behind the woodshed.”

Ross sighed. “There’s a Glock in the bedside table. And a Derringer in Lydia’s.”

Tony opened the drawer and pulled out the Glock. It was large, heavy in his hand. Dangerous.

“Wanda?”

She pulled out the tiny Derringer. It had a pearl handle, the barrel, rose gold. “Oh, it’s pretty,” she said, then looked up at Tony, horrified. “I--” she shook her head.

“It’s okay. Put them on the vanity.”

“Doesn’t like guns, does she?” Ross said. His voice dripped with the same scorn his eyes held. “I suppose when your whole body is a weapon you wouldn’t want competition. Is that it, _sweetie_?” he asked, twisting Tony’s endearment into something ugly. “You don’t want to pull the trigger? You like it more hands-on, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” she whispered.

“Wanda?”

She straightened her spine. Lifted her head. “I’m fine, Tony.”

Tony nodded. He hadn’t known her parents, what kind of people they’d been, but he could see Steve in that posture, that arrogant tip of her chin, and he was proud. As proud as any pseudo-step-father had ever been in the history of the universe.

“I assume you’ve taken out my security team?” Ross asked.

“They’ll be fine. They’re all just taking a little nap. They’ll all wake up in the morning fresh as daisies, right, sweetie?”

“That’s right.”

Thaddeus grunted. “And the system--?”

“Incapacitated at the moment.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“You couldn’t have come to my office?”

Tony snorted. “I think this is a much more appropriate venue for this chat, Thad.”

“If you’re going to kill me, would you please just do it?” Ross said, then his eyes flicked to the picture on the table. “All I ask is that you clean up the mess. Don’t make my wife come home to that.”

Tony powered down the gauntlet, and it melted from his hand. It had felt strange having it on again. Good, but strange. Like putting on a wedding-day suit jacket a year after the divorce. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “I probably should, but I’m not going to.”

“Then why are you here?”

There was a desk against the wall. A low, leather-topped thing made of heavy, solid maple. An Eames chair was slid into the knee-hole. Tony pulled it out and sat down. It was comfortable and exquisite. It was something Howard would have bought. Something he, himself, would buy. Why did he have to have so much in common with the men he truly disliked?

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them. “FRI, would you throw up Baxter’s files, please, angel?”

“Of course.”

FRIDAY had commandeered Ross’ security systems, and now used them to project Doctor Baxter’s files up in the air. She scrolled through them, letting the words move. Tony watched Ross’ face, watched his peculiar brand of non-reaction.

“I guess these look familiar?” he said.

“Since you’re here, you already know they do.”

Tony raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well? Anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Tony rubbed his face. “Dude, why do you have to make this so hard?” he asked wearily. “It’s late. I’m tired. Wanda’s tired. Fuck, _you’re_ probably tired. I did just wake you up, after all.”

“No, I’m fine, actually.”

“God,” Tony groaned, dragging the word out until it felt like three or four syllabels instead of one. “You’re lucky this chair is comfortable.”

“Yes, it is,” Ross agreed. “Comfortable, that is. Unfortunately, it’s not so lucky for me if that means you’re staying.”

“You’re a dick, Thad.”

“I’ve been told.”

Tony smiled over at Wanda. Her eyes had not left Ross, but when she felt Tony’s look, she glanced at him. “Will you do me a favor, and go check on Sam?” he asked. “I left him with the dogs, and I think he might be afraid of them.”

She frowned, her red lips drawing down. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. That wasn’t the plan.”

Yeah. She was Steve’s kid, alright. Through and through. “Really, sweetie, it’s fine. Ross isn’t going to do anything rash. Are you, Thad?”

Even sitting in his bed wearing ridiculous flannel pajamas with a monogram over the pocket--the Rosses seemed very fond of the old monograms--he looked like he was at a board meeting. “No,” he said. “I don’t see what that would gain me.”

“Very practical, Thad.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Tony gave her his most sincere Stark smile. It had gotten him a long way during his lifetime. Jarvis had been immune, but his mother had been a sucker for it. As had all the pretty coeds, both male and female, he’d talked into bed his junior and senior years at school. After that, he’d pretty much dropped the sincerity and just went full-on selfish. The irony was, he got laid twice as much. Of course, the money and the drugs may have had something to do with that.

“Please,” he said. “It will really be okay.”

“Fine,” she said. “But contact me if there is any problem.” She eyed Ross again stonily.   
“And I’ll be back in ten minutes with Sam.”

“That’s perfect. Thanks.”

She swept out of the room, leaving the door open. Ross watched her go, his mouth twisted into a knowing smile. “Well,” he said, “you can certainly tell who she spent time with, can’t you, Stark?”

“Yes.”

“Were they lovers?”

Tony laughed. “No.”

“What about Romanov? They’ve always seemed very...close.”

Tony refused to take the bait. Because this was what Ross did. How he operated. He got inside a person’s head and exploited any weakness he could find. The proof was right there still hovering in the air next to Tony--Baxter’s files continuously scrolling.

“If they were, they aren’t anymore,” Tony said lightly. “Steve’s with me.”

“Why? Is it purely for shock-value? I know you indulged in that a lot while Howard and Maria were alive, but I had hoped you would have outgrown it by now.”

“I think a better question is, why _this_?” Tony asked, motioning to the holographic files. “What do you have against him?”

“He’s a criminal. He’s dangerous.”

“He is dangerous,” Tony agreed. “But only to dangerous people.” He leaned forward again. “Does that include you, Ross? Is that why you’re afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Ross said. “I’m afraid of _you_. I’m afraid of _her_.” He nodded to the door Wanda had left from. “Romanov, Barton, Wilson, Fury. All of you. _You’re_ the ones I’m afraid of. Because none of you will open your eyes. None of you will see.”

“What do _you_ see?” Tony asked. Frustration bled into his voice. “What do you see when you look at him? What is so horrible?”

Ross drew in a breath. He was a strong man. A dignified man. Tony remembered seeing him from time to time when he was a young man visiting Howard’s office. Out of all Howard’s colleagues, Ross had seemed the most decent then. In fact, Tony had, one night, had a dirty dream where he and Ross engaged in some somewhat kinky escapades. When he woke up, he found he’d been more turned on than he’d thought. His sheets and underwear were wet with come.

He was a little embarrassed to think of it now sitting here in Ross’ bedroom where his wife lay down her head at night, but he was curious. And angry, too.

“I see a man with absolutely nothing to lose. A man with no ties. No boundaries. No laws. A man who believes in nothing, because everything he believed in is gone.” Ross cocked his head, his eyes boring into Tony’s. “If you don’t think a man like that is dangerous, Stark, then I’m even more afraid of you than I thought.”

Indignation rose up in Tony’s chest-- _Don’t talk about him that way!_ \--but he kept silent. Ross wanted him to fly off the handle. He had no doubt Ross believed every word he was saying, but if Tony responded that way, Ross would win. Tony couldn’t let him win. He’d won enough.

He counted to five inside his head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. “Do you think that gives you the right to do this to him?” Tony asked.

“Yes. I do. That’s what you do with a wild animal, Stark. You find a way to cage it.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. “By any means necessary?”

“That’s right.”

Tony sighed, his eyes straying to the photo on the nightstand. Mrs. Ross laughing, Thaddeus smiling into her neck. “I don’t want to think you’re an evil guy, Thad,” he said softly. “But your priorities are fucked up and your vision is skewed.”

“You didn’t think that when you signed the Accords.”

Onetwothreefourfive. “Yes, I did. But I thought if we worked together, we’d balance each other out.”

Ross nodded to the files still scrolling away. “What do you think now, Mr. Stark? What are you going to do with that information?”

Tony looked at them. All the horrible things Ross had done to Steve over the years. Steve didn’t want to know about this part of it. He didn’t want to think about what the consequences would be for Ross. Or even if there _should_ be any consequences. Tony thought part of him thought he deserved the imprisonment he’d suffered. Tony also thought that was bullshit, but he didn’t tell Steve that. 

Tony had wanted to kill Ross. Plain and simple. Tony, Wanda, Clint, and surprisingly, Nick Fury had all been on the side of just getting rid of him. But, they had been outvoted. Stephen Strange, Natasha, Bruce, and Sam all had cooler heads and voted on the side of mercy. Thor had been the deciding vote. After Loki, Tony had known what he would say, but he was as much Steve’s family as any of them, and deserved a vote. There had been a lot of back and forth after that. A lot of debate. Wanda had been especially keen on the idea of an eye-for-an-eye. She had been in Steve’s head, after all. She had experienced everything he had, from the confusion and pain of the drugs, to the multiple suicide attempts-- _Five_ , she’d told Tony one night while they ate cold fried chicken straight from the fridge. _He tried five times_.--to the lonely, cold, frightening time he’d spent at The Raft. It’s what she wanted for Ross. To be treated the same. To be pumped full of drugs until he barely knew his own name, then shoved away in a dark, dank hole. It was what he deserved. Better than he deserved. Strange had thought of this. What they were doing now. Coming in here, forcibly removing Ross from the house, threatening him, then bringing him publicly, loudly to justice for his crimes.

Sitting here now, Tony knew Strange had been right to stop him from out and out murder. He didn’t like it, but he knew it. However, he wasn’t sure if the plan they had come up with was right, either. He wasn’t sure if, when he had the chance to think it over later, if Steve, himself, would approve.

“I was going to kill you,” he said. “I think you deserve it. After everything you did to him, after all _that,_ ” he said bitterly, gesturing to the files, “I still think you deserve it.”

Ross said nothing, just sat stoic, looking at him. 

“But instead, I think I’m going to take a page out of the Steve Rogers Playbook.”

Ross eyed him warily. “And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“Yeah, Tony,” Sam said from behind them. “What _does_ that mean?”

Tony looked over his shoulder at Sam and Wanda. Steve’s family. His brother and his daughter in all but blood.

“I’m going to do what he did,” Tony said. “I’m going to make a deal.” He raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Do you concur, Mr. Wilson?”

Sam put his arm around Wanda’s shoulders and gave her a tiny, conciliatory squeeze. “You know I do.”

Of course, Tony knew. It had been his suggestion all along. Sam smiled at him approvingly. Tony’s stomach fluttered in response. 

_This guy…_

\---

“Rogers.”

Steve shifted on the cot, his sleeping face lost in worry.

“Captain Rogers. Wake up.”

_Captain?_

Steve turned on his side, rubbing his eyes. It was dark. It was always dark in the hole, and the light from the corridor stung. 

“Yeah?”

The guard jerked his head. “Come on, sir, let’s go.”

_Sir?!_

Steve got to his feet and looked at the guard. He had put some more weight back on. He wasn’t back to the 200 pounds he had been, but he was almost there. 180 now. All good, hard muscle, and when he stood, the guard stood a little taller, as well. Steve didn’t know if it was consideration or compensation. He supposed, in the end, it didn’t really matter. But he didn’t like this. It was wrong. Not once since he’d been brought here, had someone called him “Captain”. Not once, had someone called him “Sir”.

“Where are we going?”

“Out,” the guard said. “This way.”

Steve held his ground. He had no idea what time it was. No idea what day. Time in the hole was non-time. They brought him his meals, but he often slept through them and simply ate it cold when he woke up. Sometimes, he had the suspicion he’d slept through two meals. Unless the army had started serving oatmeal three times a day. Which could be. He wasn’t really sure. 

What he was sure about was the off-feeling this was giving him. He’d been in the hole before since coming here--the time Tony had witnessed wasn’t the first scuffle he’d gotten into, just the worst one--and it never ended like this. They never called him “Captain” or “Sir”. There’d never been the sober face under the cap. Steve had gotten a bit friendly with a couple of the older guards, and there was usually just a jingle of keys, and a good-natured, “Up and at ‘em, kid. Back to the herd.”

This was not like that. This was different. This was _wrong_.

“Where are you taking me? Back to gen pop?”

“They’ll have more information for you outside, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir’,” Steve said sharply, and the guard snapped unconsciously to attention. Like Tony, he knew a command when he heard it.

“You outrank me, sir,” he said smartly, eyes forward, chin high and firm. “It’s protocol for me to address a higher-ranking officer as ‘sir’, sir.”

Steve looked at him, shocked. “At ease, soldier,” he said faintly.

The guard’s shoulders dropped slightly. “Follow me, sir.”

“Okay,” Steve said warily, and followed him out the door.

Steve’s bare feet slapped along the concrete as they made their way up the corridors. He had changed out of his pajamas during his “awake” times and into his jumpsuit for awhile, but after Tony, Wanda, and Doctor Strange had come to visit, he had pretty much lived in his pajamas. In fact, he was not sure, even now, that the entire interlude had not been a very vivid, very detailed dream. He wore the pajamas to keep it close. If it had been a dream, he wanted to remember it as well as possible. If it hadn’t, well, the pjs were more comfortable, anyway.

The guard led him through the concrete corridors, but instead of releasing him back into the prison proper, they kept going, and soon the concrete turned to carpet. The walls became painted sheetrock. There were desks, offices, computers, telephones. The real world hadn’t disappeared, after all. It had been here all along.

They stopped outside an office door, and the guard rapped on it twice. People milled around them, their hands full of papers or curled around phones or bottles of water. One man at a desk a few feet away was eating his lunch. Steve stared. It looked like a cobb salad. Chicken. Bacon. The feta cheese smelled sharp and enticing. Steve’s mouth watered. He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to go over and stuff that entire tray of lettuce and cucumber and dressing into his mouth. Even from here, he could see the bacon was crisp and peppery.

He turned away with a harsh sigh. His hands balled into fists. When the door opened, he thanked the Virgin Mary and all the Saints. He hadn’t done that in a long time. Steve didn’t know whether to be amused or frightened that all it took was a salad to bring out the Catholic boy in him again.

“Come in, Captain Rogers.”

Steve fell through the door. The smell of bacon was driving him mad.

“Are you alright, son?”

Steve closed his eyes, took a deep breath. No bacon in here. He thanked the Virgin Mary again.

When he opened his eyes, they fell on the bars on the man’s chest. Steve straightened immediately, snapping to attention as naturally as the guard had done in his cell. His tour had ended decades ago, but he did it anyway. The bars on the man’s chest meant “colonel”. “Colonel” meant respect.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m fine. I apologize.”

“No apology necessary,” the Colonel said. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“My name is Colonel Hunt. We haven’t met.”

“No, sir.”

Hunt stood in front of Steve. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I punched Secretary Ross in the face, sir. I believe I broke his nose.”

Hunt’s lips twitched. If Steve didn’t know better, he would have thought he was hiding a smile. “Yes, you did, Captain. But I meant, do you know why you’re standing here in this office, right now?”

Steve flushed. “Oh. No, sir.”

“You’re being released.”

Part of Steve’s mind had still been in the hallway concentrating on that salad, wondering if the romaine was crunchy, thinking about how those cherry tomatoes would pop when he bit down on them, and that bacon, that smoky, meaty, crispy bacon. But now, he was all here. All present. He frowned. 

“Sir?”

“You heard me correctly. You are to be released immediately.”

“On whose authority?”

“Secretary Ross’.”

Steve drew in a breath. So. That’s how it was. He’d known it would come to this. He’d told Tony. _Oh, god, Tony._ A flutter of panic raced through him. No. Tony’d be okay. Better than okay. He’d mourn him, sure, but it wouldn’t keep him down forever. He’d get over it. Get over _him._ Nat would make sure of it. And Rhodey. And Bruce. They’d make sure he was okay. Make sure he kept going. And then someday he’d meet someone else, and they could have a family. A bunch of little Starks running around. Tony could have his Brady Bunch Christmases then. And maybe someday, when Tony was old, and tired, and ready to move on, maybe he’d find Steve again. Maybe he’d find him on the other side of that barrier. They’d promised. Steve wouldn’t begrudge Tony a happy life, because they would be together again if Tony still wanted that. Steve would wait for him. Until Tony was ready. He’d meet him on the path and if Tony was willing, they could go on to whatever lay beyond it together.

Steve let the breath out. He nodded. “When do they come for me, sir?”

Hunt’s brow contracted. “When does who come for you?”

“Ross’ men. When do they come to take me away?”

Hunt’s face cracked into a small smile. “No, son, you misunderstand me,” he said. “You’ve been given a pardon. A full military and civil pardon. Secretary Ross called me this morning himself. You’re free to go.”

Steve fell back a step. He forgot about respect. He forgot about waiting. He even forgot about that damn cobb salad. “What?” he said, and Hunt, who seemed like a rather pleasant guy, actually laughed.

“That’s right, Captain Rogers. You can go.”

“Really?” Steve asked, his voice cracking. 

Hunt put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Really. But you might want to change first.”

Steve glanced down at himself, his t-shirt and blue pajama bottoms. His bare feet. He needed a shower. And a shave. But, he supposed, he could do that at home.

Home.

_Tony._

Tears came to his eyes, and he wiped them hurriedly away, trying to regain his composure. He remembered where he was. That this man was a Colonel.

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“No need to apologize, Captain Rogers,” Hunt said. “Or thank me. It was my great pleasure giving you that news. Believe me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Hunt reached over to his desk and picked up a framed photo. He handed it to Steve. It showed three young girls, all cute little brunettes, probably seven, nine, and twelve, if Steve guessed correctly. “These are my daughters,” Hunt said. “They were all taken from me during The Incident.” Steve looked up quickly, catching Hunt’s damp eyes. “You brought them back to me, Captain.”

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t do that, please. They told me you were humble, but don’t do that. I know what I know. You’re a hero, Captain Rogers. And after I put my girls to bed, I go down on my knees and thank God for you. Every single night.”

Hunt smiled at Steve. Tears streamed down his face as he straightened his shoulders to attention. His hand came up to his forehead in a crisp, perfect salute.

Steve returned it.

  
The sun was sitting low on the horizon when Steve stepped out of the prison. He was carrying the same old ruck-sack. He was wearing the same old leather jacket. At least, the weather was more appropriate for it this time. It was June now. Just barely, but June, all the same.

He breathed deep, and under the smells of concrete and exhaust and hot tar was the scent of cherry blossoms. The scent of summer right around the corner. Steve filled his lungs full of it. When he exhaled, he pushed the air of the prison out. The scent was still in his pores, but it would go away soon enough.

“Hey, soldier.”

Steve looked up, and there he stood.

“Hey, yourself.”

Tony sauntered toward him, hands in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a long-sleeved thermal under a concert tee. Alice in Chains, this time. Steve remembered Tony playing him an album once, going into raptures about “grunge” and the Seattle music scene of the nineties. “Alice in Chains stands apart, though,” he’d said. “Christ, Steve, listen to the melody. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Steve, who had really only been aware of Tony sitting dangerously close, could only bob his head. He couldn’t hear a melody. Couldn’t hear anything but Tony’s voice, really, but he agreed. “Yeah, Tony. It is. It’s really pretty.”

Then Tony had smiled at him, and Steve felt warm all over. He’d seemed to hear a melody then, but it hadn’t had anything to do with Alice or her Chains.

“You need a ride, big guy?” Tony asked.

“Maybe. That depends.”

“On?”

Steve blushed a little, looking up through lowered lashes. “If you’re real. See, I’ve had this dream. It starts out a lot like this.”

A small smile played over Tony’s lips, looking one second confident, the next, unsure. “How does it end?”

Steve lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on the night.”

Tony held out his arm. “Here. Pinch me.”

“Shouldn’t you pinch me?”

“This is more fun.”

Steve reached out and squeezed a fold of Tony’s skin between his thumb and forefinger lightly.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That didn’t hurt.”

“Does that mean you’re dreaming, or I am?”

Tony grinned. “Who the fuck knows?”

“Well, if it’s me, aren’t you supposed to kiss me?” Steve asked shyly. “Isn’t that how it works?”

“Are you actually comparing yourself to a Disney princess, right now?”

Steve ducked his head further, but he was smiling, his pale Irish skin, pink. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Tony hooked his finger into Steve’s belt loop and pulled him closer. He reached up and ran his hand through soft, blond hair. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby, you know that?”

Steve dropped his head onto Tony’s shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you,” he whispered, and then Tony was kissing him, and everything was better. Everything was alright.

  
Tony lay on the bed in the cabin, trying very hard to work. He was going through the motions. He had his tablet out. He had the specs for Clint’s new arrows up. He was even wearing his glasses. He was putting on a good show, but every ounce of his concentration was actually focused on the closed door opposite him The closed door and what was behind it.

The shower had run for a long time. A very long time. It was a good thing they’d washed the dishes right after their quiet little dinner because Steve seemed pretty determined to run the water cold. Tony didn’t mind. He’d showered himself earlier while Steve put dinner together, and besides, if his guy wanted to use all the hot water after four months in prison, Tony certainly wasn’t going to stop him. Hell, he would have carried it up from the lake and boiled it on the stove himself if Steve had so desired. He would have done anything. Would _do_ anything. Steve was here. Steve was home. And a slightly higher water bill was the very last thing on Tony’s mind tonight.

There were a lot of other things on his mind, though.

They weren’t even all about sex.

After Tony had gotten Steve settled in the car outside the prison walls, and they were on their way, he’d asked Steve what he wanted to do. 

“I don’t want to do anything, Tony,” he said. “Is that okay? Can’t we just go home and...Can’t we just go home?”

Tony took his hand off the gear-shift and rubbed Steve’s thigh. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“We can do something tomorrow, if you want,” Steve said. He was turned toward Tony in his seat, back against the door--seatbelt be damned--head against the seat, curled up like a cat. Tony could feel the weight of his eyes in his bones. It didn’t feel like a sexual thing, although Steve could do that quite well when he wanted to. This was just looking. Just watching. Just a comfortable, existing-together look. Tony thought he’d never felt a look so warm. He didn’t ever want it to stop.

“Nat and Bruce want to come up sometime,” he said, soaking in that look like a sponge. “But I told them we might need a little while.”

Steve put his hand over Tony’s. “Yeah. That’d be nice. If we could take a little time. Just us.” His eyes darkened a little. “If that’s okay? You don’t mind it just being the two of us for a while again, do you?”

Tony glanced at him. “Okay, baby, let’s get a couple things straight.”

“Okay.”

“Number one: You don’t have to ask me if it’s okay. I’m not the boss of you. Don’t get me wrong, I love the check-in, but I want us to be equal. You know, partners.”

“It’s been a long time since I was my own boss, Tony,” Steve said softly. “Since I didn’t have to ask somebody’s permission.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have to ask mine, you dummy.”

Steve smiled. “What’s the other thing?”

“Number two,” Tony said, looking at him quickly, before glancing back at the road. “There is literally _nothing_ that I want more than to be alone with you. If it were up to me, we would be alone every minute of every day for the rest of our lives.”

Steve’s fingers moved over Tony’s hand again. He traced the blue veins, ran over the knuckles, delved into the heat of his palm. “Are you sure?” he asked. “After what happened before?”

“I’m not scared of you, Steve.

Steve lifted Tony’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Good.” He kissed his hand again. And again.

Tony got lost in the sensation of Steve’s mouth on his fingers, the gentle brush of his lips against the knuckles. So lost he almost missed his turn and had to yank it away to down-shift. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he goosed the brake and spun the wheel.

Steve rode it out, barely bracing himself against the ‘Cuda’s leather dash with one hand. “You trying to kill us, Stark?” he asked mildly.

“This is why we wear seat-belts, Rogers.”

Steve just laughed. 

He didn’t put his seat-belt on.

Tony could hear movement in the bathroom now. The water in the sink turning on and off. The soft scrub of Steve’s toothbrush against his teeth. The water again. After that, it was quiet for a long time. Tony thought he was probably shaving. The police had taken his old straight razor as evidence that night so long ago now, and all that was in there was a disposable Bic he had picked up at the pharmacy during that all-too-brief month he had spent here between The Raft and the prison. Tony had wondered if he would buy another straight razor. He was better with it. He’d used one for his whole life, but he’d made no attempt to get one in spite of the nicks he always ended up with when using the Bic.

Tony heard the water going one last time, and tried to put his focus back on Clint’s arrows. Officially, he was retired, but sometimes Clint still came on-board. Like with Baxter. Tony supposed he was a “consultant”. Like Tony himself.

He looked up when the bathroom door opened, and his heart leapt into his throat. Those butterflies were back in his stomach, doing their thing--SteveSteveSteveSteve. 

“I, uh, I think I used all the hot water,” Steve said. “Sorry.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“Nice not having to rush in the shower.”

“They put you boys on a timer in the big house?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Steve stood hesitantly in the doorway. His eyes jumped here and there, going everywhere but the bed. Tony was reminded of that first night they’d spent together. Neither had been sure what they were doing, where they belonged, how they fit. Thankfully, this time, one of them knew.

Tony reached over and flipped the covers down on the left side of the bed. “Come on,” he said. “Come to bed.”

Steve finally looked at the bed. It was the same. Tony hadn’t changed that. Or any of this room. He still felt it was sacred space. Their own private sanctuary.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, and chewed his thumbnail. “I stayed in the loft before.”

“Fuck the loft,” Tony said. “This is where you belong.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now get over here.”

Steve crossed the bedroom to his side of the bed. He brushed his fingers over the quilt, pressed them into the mattress. 

“How does it feel?” Tony asked.

“Nice. Soft.”

“Probably feel even better when you lie down, huh?”

“I don’t know if it _could_ feel better.”

Tony put his tablet on the nightstand. He turned on his side, looking up at Steve. He had a dreamy look on his face. Like he wasn’t sure if this was real or not. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe part of him still believed he was back in that prison cell. Maybe part of him would always believe that.

Tony took his fingers and tugged on them. “Give it a try.”

Steve took a deep breath, then sat down. He exhaled, just sitting for a minute, then slowly brought his legs up onto the bed and settled against the headboard. His eyes were closed.

“Well?” Tony asked. “How is it?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up in his old, familiar half-smile. “It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“Very good. Better than I remember.”

“Well,” Tony said, taking his hand. “I did a lot of tossing and turning on this bed while you were gone. Maybe I broke it in a little.”

“Tossing and turning alone?” Steve asked. 

“Oh yeah,” he answered. “I was alone. And it fucking sucked.”

Steve finally opened his eyes. He turned his head, smiling faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said, “but I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“I need you to promise me you’re not going back to prison.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know, Tony,” he said, his voice unsure, not quite concealing the laughter in his eyes.. “That seems like a lot to ask. I don’t know if I can promise that.”

Tony sunk his teeth lightly into the back of Steve’s hand. “You’d _better_ promise me that, smartass,” he said. “It was hot the first couple times, but if it happens again, people are going to start talking about that Tony Stark and his jailbird lover, and--”

“Please don’t call me your jailbird lover.”

“--and then we won’t get invited to any more church services, or ice cream socials, and you’ll have to start greasing your hair back, and smoking on the street corner, and thumbing your nose at the cops, and frankly, it just sounds like a lot of work. So, if you could just not get sent to prison again, that would be great.”

Steve watched him as he spoke, a look of wry amusement on his face. “And, uh, when you were coming up with this scenario,” he said, “was the _whole_ cast of _Grease_ there, or…”

Tony rolled his eyes. “ _Grease_ Two, Steve, damn. Give me some credit. Michael was _way_ hotter than Danny.”

Steve laughed and slid down the headboard until he was lying on the pillow. It was exactly what Tony had hoped for. He’d wanted Steve to relax, and now here he was, smiling and mellow. All Tony had to do was tell a stupid joke, and he was putty. There was a very potent power in that, Tony thought. They say it’s music that soothes the savage beast, and while Steve was neither savage, nor a beast, he could be soothed. Although, in his case, it was humor, not music that did it. Tony loved that. Loved that he could do that. Loved that Steve let him do that.

And, honestly, Steve _was_ more of a Michael.

Tony slid closer and put his head on Steve’s chest. He threw his arm across his waist, and his leg over Steve’s leg. It was the way they had almost always lain together. Thinking back, Tony realized it was the exact position they’d been in the last time they’d been together in this bed. The afternoon before Steve was taken. The afternoon before he’d nearly killed Tony and then himself.

Tony pressed closer. The thought made him cold.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked, his thumb moving against Tony’s side. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m okay,” Tony said. “But, really, Steve, you can’t leave me again.” He curled his fist into Steve’s t-shirt and drew in a shuddering breath. All of a sudden, this wasn’t a joke. This was deadly serious. He huddled close against Steve’s side and spoke into his chest. His eyes were blurry, and he felt a weakness in his heart he had not felt since Peter had crumbled to dust at his fingertips. “Promise me, okay?” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t go away again. I can’t watch you leave, baby. I can’t. Don’t make me.”

“Hey,” Steve soothed, running his hand up and down Tony’s back. “It’s okay. No. No, that won’t happen again, Tony. Never again, okay?” He kissed his forehead with great, almost breathtaking tenderness. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me,” Tony insisted.

“I promise. I promise. It’s you and me. Forever, right?”

“Past forever.”

Steve held him tighter. “That’s right.”

“Because you’ll wait for me.”

“I _will_ wait for you.”

“And you won’t make me wait.”

“You’ve waited for me enough.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it again.”

“I promise.”

“Now say you love me.”

Steve tilted Tony’s face up to his so he could look him in the eye. Icy blues met warm, liquid brown. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t--god, I can’t do anything.” He shook his head helplessly. “You’re all I think about. You’re everything I ever...You’re everything, Tony. You’re just--you’re everything.”

Tony crawled up and pressed his lips against Steve’s. Steve pulled him on top of his chest and kissed him hungrily back. His eyes were closed, but his mouth devoured Tony’s by touch alone, his tongue licking into his soft, wet heat.

“I love you,” he breathed, as his hands slipped under Tony’s shirt. “I love you so much, Tony. I’ve never loved anything the way I love you.”

“Don’t leave me,” Tony said desperately.

“I’m not gonna leave you. I’m never gonna leave you.”

Tony ground his hips against Steve’s gasping at the sudden, electric burst of heat. 

Steve’s eyes opened. They were dark and possessive. He curled his arm around Tony’s waist and rolled them both over until Tony was pressed into the mattress and Steve was on top of him, kissing him with hot, heavy abandon.

He pulled back long enough to say, “Let’s get rid of this,” then pulled Tony’s shirt over his head and tossed it away. He bent over Tony’s chest, kissed the arc reactor, then licked the scarred flesh around it, worshipping it with his tongue. From the reactor, Steve moved on to Tony’s nipple. He took it in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth until it pebbled. Tony muttered, “Oh god, baby, yes,” under his breath, unaware he had even spoken as Steve turned his attention to the other one. He caught it between his teeth, then ran his tongue over it. Tony fisted his hand in Steve’s hair and held him in place with a guttural moan.

Steve indulged him a little longer, then pulled away. He sat up, straddling Tony’s hips, and pulled his own shirt off. Tony reached up and ran his fingers over the hard abdominals. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispered. And he was. The lamplight burnished his skin in gold.

Steve eased himself back down, capturing Tony’s mouth once more, teasing his lips with his tongue, and rolling his hips against him, creating a steamy relentless friction between them. 

Tony arched his back, increasing the pressure, and dug his fingers into Steve’s back. “I want to feel you, baby,” he said. “Come on. Please.”

“Be patient.”

“No,” Tony said. “No. I don’t want to be patient. I’m tired of being patient. I want to feel you. I want you. I want all of you.”

“Tony--”

“No, Steve. Please. I don’t want to wait anymore. Please.”

Steve went impossibly still. Lying atop Tony, hovering over him, his eyes burned with dark want. His breath was heavy but controlled. His heart beat fast and light, but he didn’t move. “We’ve never…” 

Tony pulled him down, kissing his mouth. “I know. Trust me, I know. But I want to. Don’t you want to?”

To Tony’s great relief, Steve began moving against him again. Just a little, just tiny, gentle thrusts, but the feeling was all the more delectable for its delicacy. 

“It’s not that,” Steve said quietly. “I _do_ want to. I _very_ want to.”

Tony smiled into his lips. “Then what’s the problem?”

Steve shook his head. “Nothing, I guess,” he said. “I just didn’t think we’d ever get here. It just almost doesn’t seem real. Like I’m still back at the...Like I’m just dreaming.”

Tony kissed him again, his tongue gentle and caressing. “You’re not dreaming, baby,” he said. “You’re here. I don’t want you to think about that other place anymore. That part’s over. You’re here with me. _Be_ here with me. Be with me. Okay, baby? Okay?”

Steve pressed his mouth to Tony’s again. It was filled with a sweet oblivion. Tony could feel it. Feel it in the solid weight of him, the slow, serpentine undulation of his hips, the open-mouthed promise of his kiss, and he felt like weeping. This was happening. Finally. After so many years of denial and longing and desire and passion, Steve was completely his. And he was completely Steve’s. They belonged to each other. Tony was Steve’s only. Steve was Tony’s last. The vow hung unspoken around them like the soft haze of mist on a summer morning.

“Where do you want me?” Steve whispered.

“Here, baby,” Tony said. “I want you right here.”

Tony guided him through it, showing him with soft touches and whispered words how it would be between them, how it would always be. It was excruciatingly slow, excruciatingly sweet, like heaven, heaven having Steve here with him like this. Heaven having Steve above him, around him, inside him. His heat, his scent--good old Skin Bracer, byyy _Men_ nen--his aura. The feeling he gave off was safety and security and love. It radiated off him. Light personified. And with him inside of Tony, he was alight, as well. Steve shared his effulgence, and Tony took it in, let it change him, let it brighten the dark places inside of him, let it make him more than he’d ever been either alone or with anybody else. 

It came to him then, with Steve rocking into him, that _this_ was what Ross had really been afraid of. This light. This brilliance. This ability to spark something inside someone else--everyone else. As much as he liked to believe that Steve was only a dangerous animal, Ross knew deep inside himself that Steve was a man. A man who could inspire and rally and lead. Steve--Captain America--was a symbol of higher values, lasting ideals, the things Steve believed in, things men like Ross thought were gone. This was a new world. A politicians’ world. A world made for men like Thaddeus Ross, and he didn’t want to lose that. None of them did. The men who had created this world for themselves would do anything to keep it. Steve believed in equality, goodness, humanity, handshakes. He looked at the person, not the package, and to some men, the thought that someone like Steve could inspire a new generation into action was probably terrifying. Had Ross prayed for Steve’s death even as Tony sat by his bedside in Wakanda praying for his life? Tony thought he had. 

Tony thought about the deal they’d made. The deal that got Steve out of prison with all charges dropped. His record expunged. He thought of the restitution money that Ross had agreed to pay. Five million dollars, put into an account in Steve’s name. He thought of the complete overhaul of the Accords that was going to be put into motion. At least three Avengers had to be present at every meeting held, and the only items put into the new version of the Accords had to be unanimously agreed upon before becoming a part of them. It would take a long time, but it would be worth the effort, in the end.

Tony thought of Ross. Of the one other thing they had agreed to. The one truly personal thing that Tony had insisted upon before their deal was complete. 

It was given out to the public that Thaddeus Ross had decided to take an extended leave from his post in Washington. A year’s sabbatical to spend time in quiet contemplation, and then he would return, if the country still needed and wanted him. The press conference had been a good one. There were tears and a long ovation at the end, and a half-hearted hug from the president himself, who said, of course, Ross could come back. The country would always need him, always want him. 

Ross’ stay at The Raft wasn’t official, then. His was to be an off-the-books imprisonment. One that only a handful of people knew about. Even without drugs being pumped into his system on a daily basis, a year in The Raft would be hell for a man like Ross. Especially since he was being put into isolation. Only two other men had stayed in that cell. It was practically factory-sealed. Just for him.

Ross would be fine. Tony was certain of it. He’d do his time, come out the other side, and be welcomed back to Washington a hero with a zen pedigree. That was okay with Tony. He knew he’d suffer while he was there. And that was the point. He didn’t care what happened afterward, just that Ross suffered during. And who knew? Maybe Ross _would_ take the year to quietly contemplate what he’d done to Steve. What it felt like to be an animal in a cage. Maybe some time away would actually change the son of a bitch.

Probably not. But it never hurt to hope.

Steve bent to kiss Tony’s mouth. Steve was deep inside him, moving with him. His hands touching him, stroking him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge of the abyss. “You feel good,” Steve whispered in his ear. “Oh, god, Tony, you feel so good.”

“So do you, baby.”

“Like heaven.” He kissed Tony’s ear. His neck. His shoulder. “Is it okay?” he asked. “Is it...enough?”

Tony couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of him. He was so close, so close to the edge, holding onto his control by his fingertips so Steve could come first, and Steve was asking if it was enough. “I could have come ten times, Steve,” he laughed, arching his back, meeting Steve thrust for thrust. 

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Steve kissed him deeply, his hand gripping him, moving faster, the heat between them scorching. “Do it, then, Tony,” he said raggedly. “Do it. Let go.”

“You--”

“No, Tony. Do it. Now.”

It was another command. And in the face of it, Tony could hold on no longer. He cried out with the force of it, painting Steve’s chest with it, his breath panting in and out of his lungs, muscles clenching, head thrown back. 

Steve was right behind him.

He shuddered atop him, saying his name over and over and over again while Tony lay breathless beneath him. Tony wanted to pull him close, but he had no strength left in his arms. He was weak as a kitten, high on endorphins and the nearness of his best guy who would never hurt him, never lie to him, never make him wait. The potency of that hit him, and he breathed deeply, waiting for his heart to slow down or simply explode in his chest. 

Steve slipped gently out of him, but when he tried to roll away, Tony said, “No, don’t go. Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean stay _here_. Don’t move. Just lie here with me for a second, ‘kay? Please?”

Tony thought Steve laughed a little. There was certainly a note of humor in his tone when he said, “I’ll crush you.”

“Don’t care,” he answered. “I _want_ you to crush me.”

This time, the laughter was definite. “Okay,” Steve warned. “But no bitching about a sore back later.”

“I’ll bitch all I want, Rogers. Lie down.”

Steve eased himself fully on top of Tony’s prone body. He was crushing him, but Tony savored the feeling. The weight of his body was like the weight of their words. Their promises to each other made physical. And Steve’s lips on his neck and his shoulder made it easier. 

Some of the feeling was coming back into his arms, and Tony lifted them enough to caress Steve’s sides, the ridges of his ribs, the soft skin of his hip.

“Was it okay?” Steve asked, mouthing Tony’s collarbone.

Tony laughed. “Baby, I haven’t come that hard since I was thirty.”

“I don’t want to hear about that.”

“Come on, it’s a good story,” Tony teased. “Full of intrigue. Secrets.” Pause. “Twins.”

“Keep it to yourself, Stark.”

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Steve said softly. He propped himself up on his forearms, relieving some of the pressure on Tony’s chest. Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He kissed Tony’s mouth thoroughly. “Can I move now?” Steve asked. “Or am I supposed to be your human blanket all night?”

“That does sound nice.”

“But…?”

“Fine,” Tony relented and Steve rolled away. But not too far. He laid next to him, curled his fingers into Tony’s, and angled his head onto his shoulder. It wasn’t a human blanket, but it was the next best thing.

_“Was_ it okay, Tony?” Steve asked.

“It was perfect, baby.”

“Really?”

“I never lie about orgasms, Steve.”

“What’s been the best one?”

“All of them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” Steve turned on his side and curled into Tony. They were both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither cared. They’d clean up later. Steve was nearly asleep beside him, and Tony was falling fast, but he needed to know something first. Had to ask.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Kay.”

Steve opened his eyes in the dark. Tony felt his look and opened his own. “That’s okay, right?” Steve asked. His face was serious, his eyes dark, those three worry-lines between his brows. 

Tony kissed them slowly, then ran his fingers through Steve’s damp hair. “Yeah, it’s okay, big guy.”

Steve pressed closer, throwing his arm over Tony’s middle to tug him nearer. He nuzzled into the crook of Tony’s neck. “‘Kay,” he said, and slept.

Dreamlessly. For once.

\---

They lost the tournament. 

Well, came in second, but in Tony’s eyes, it was still a loss. 

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll get ‘em next year, Tony.”

“I shoulda--”

“You bowled a 230,” Jeff said, and glanced darkly at one of the other guys. “Dave only did a 180. We’ve got to work on him.”

The back of Tony’s neck prickled with pride and pleasure at being included in a “we” with Jeff. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time. Not since Jarvis was alive.

“I’ve got just the thing,” Tony said.

He flew them all to Atlantic City for a long weekend.

They didn’t gamble. Instead, Tony rented out the casino’s bowling alley for the entire time they were there. They drank, ate, and bowled. All day, for three days. He called Steve both nights they were gone, and slowly jerked off to the sweet river of filth that flowed from the phone into his ear. And then called him again in the morning for a repeat performance.

By the time they left, Dave was bowling a 200 again. Tony was at 240 in spite of his hangover and perpetual semi. Steve was a menace. A foul-mouthed menace when he wanted to be, and Tony couldn’t wait to get home. 

Jeff wasn’t a hugger, but he clasped Tony’s shoulder when the jet touched down, thanked him, told him to get home to his fella, then got into the Charger and drove home.

Tony did the same, that sense of pride still there. Said fella met him at the door and Tony launched himself into his arms. They made love then made dinner. Every homecoming should be so sweet.

\---

“Tony--”

“Noon, baby. Just like last time.”

Steve flushed, ducking his head guiltily. “Sorry.”

Tony flipped the dish towel he was holding over his shoulder and came around the kitchen island. Steve sat down onto a stool and hooked his finger through the belt loop of Tony’s jeans. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony said, and kissed his mouth. “I’m excited, too.” 

And he was. It was the first time their friends would be here since Steve had come home. Their first time seeing each other again. Steve wandered around the house, arranging, then rearranging the table, the chairs, the books in the case, even. He was making Tony anxious, but he didn’t say anything. Steve was just excited. And maybe a little nervous. Tony was too. Right down to the nerves. But he didn’t show it. One of them needed to stay calm. Tony could do that. For his best guy, Tony could do anything.

Steve fidgeted, barely keeping his thumb from his mouth. He’d been doing better. The nail, while still brutally short, had started to grow back and Steve tried to keep it neat. Tony didn’t say anything about it, didn’t want to draw attention to the face that he’d even noticed. Steve’s pride was a delicate thing, sometimes. Tony didn’t want to accidentally hurt it.

Instead of chewing it, Steve put it out of reach by wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and pulling him closer. He rested his forehead on his chest, right next to the reactor. It’s glow lit Steve’s hair in eldritch blue.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Steve asked, not lifting his head.

Tony scritched his fingers across Steve’s scalp, making him sigh. “Yeah. I am,” he said. “It will be cathartic. For all of us.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

Steve closed his arms tighter. “Nobody’s going to...talk about it, are they?” he asked. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Instead of getting irritated by that phrase--he had come to personally detest it, especially when it came out of Steve’s mouth--Tony let it go. He understood it this time. He had, in fact, had a very long, very intense conversation with Nat, Bruce, and Sam about that very thing. They all agreed not to talk about it. Not to mention the last time they’d come up, not to push Steve into discussing, remembering, or even thinking about it if he didn’t want to. Tony didn’t know if that was healthy or not. He didn’t give a shit if it was healthy or not. He just wanted his guy to have a nice weekend.

“Nobody’s going to talk about it, baby,” he assured him. “Not unless you bring it up. Then we’ll talk as much as you want.”

“I’m not going to bring it up.”

“I know you won’t,” Tony said. “Just know that the option’s there. It’s always there.”

Steve stirred in his arms. “You think I’m being stubborn.”

“No, I don’t,” Tony said. “I think you’re doing what you need to do. If that means we don’t ever discuss it, then we never discuss it. I don’t care. _They_ don’t care. We just want you here and happy. Okay?”

“I am.”

Tony bent his head and kissed the back of Steve’s neck. “Good. ‘Cause we missed you. We all missed you.” He ran his hands up and down Steve’s back, rubbing the long, lean expanse, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. He wished, briefly, fiercely, that there was no fabric between his hands and Steve’s smooth skin. They’d spent a lot of time relearning the terrain of each other’s bodies, but that was a lesson Tony never got tired of. “ _I_ definitely missed you the most.”

Steve smiled. Tony could hear it in his voice. “I definitely missed _you_ the most.”

“Well, you don’t have to miss me anymore,” Tony said. 

Steve lifted his head and Tony kissed him. “You take such good care of me,” Steve whispered. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“You saved the world.”

“That was all of us.”

“But you’re the only one who died for it.”

Steve touched the arc reactor, running his fingers over the soft blue glow. “And you brought me back.”

“That makes me responsible for you,” Tony said. “That’s what the Chinese say. You save a life, you’re responsible for it.”

Steve laughed a little. “That’s scary, Tony,” he said. “If we saved the world, that means we’re still responsible for it.”

“No, no, no, baby,” Tony soothed, touching those vertical worry lines between Steve’s brows. “You died. You’re off the hook.”

“What about you?”

“I saved you after that. That cancels the other out. Now I’ve only got to worry about you.”

“Is that what the Chinese say?”

“That’s what I say.”

Steve pulled him closer again. Put his head on his chest. Tony ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he’d never be able to get enough of it. Never be able to get enough of Steve’s warmth, his softness, his sweetness, his stubbornness, his anger, his passion, his calm, his brooding, his love. He could fill his every second with Steve for the rest of his life, the rest of his eternity, and it would still never be enough.

But he’d try.

Oh, god, he’d try.

“I love you,” Steve said.

“I love you, too, baby.”

Steve’s fingers strayed to the button of Tony’s jeans and toyed with it.

“Noon, huh?” he said idly.

Tony’s eyes went to the clock on the microwave. 11:23. 

“Make it quick, soldier.”

Steve did.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this story...almost the end of the series! One more little story left, but its really just a tiny little coda to this. There's nothing really substantial about it, just something short and sweet, because after all the absolute shit I have put my poor guys through, I thought they deserved a gentle little denouement. I will save my effusive thanks for the end of that story, but I will give you a quick thanks now for reading and for being there!! See you in a day or so!!

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a little "talk-y". I usually end up erasing huge swaths of dialogue when it starts to descend too far into banter-town, but I kept a lot of this because I felt like it was needed for either exposition or relationship-building. Plus, I like writing dialogue. Especially between Tony and Strange. I don't know what it is about those two that just makes me want to have them try to out-wit and out-quip each other. Sorry for the self-indulgence! Next chapter coming in a day or two. Thanks for reading and for the kind words and concern you have given me!  
> Title from the Vance Joy song.


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